No.  IX 
MODERN     STANDARD     DRAMA, 

EDITED  BY  EPES  SARGENT, 

AUTHOR  OF  "VELASCO,  A  TBAGEDY,"  &c. 


THE     STRANGE. 


IN  FIVE  ACTS. 

B\  AUGUSTUS  FREDERIC  FERDINAND  VON 
KOTZEBUE. 


WITH  kTAGE  DIRECTIONS,  AND  COSTUMES,  MARKED  AND  CORRECTED 
BT  J.  B.  ADDIS,  PROMPTER. 


NEW  YORK : 
WM.  TAYLOR  &  CO. 

(s.    FRENCH,     GENERAL     AGENT,) 
151  NASSAU-STREET,  COBNER  OF  SPRUCE. 


F 


EDITORIAL  INTRODUCTION 

THE  Stranger  was  written  by  Kotzebue  in  the  year 
1  787,  during  a  period  of  severe  illness.  "  Never  before  or 
since,"  he  says,  "  did  I  feel  such  a  rapid  flow  of  ideas  and 
imagery  as  during  that  period ;  and  I  believe  it  to  be  un- 
deniable that  by  some  kinds  of  illness,  particularly  those 
in  which  the  irritation  of  the  nerves  is  increased,  the  pow- 
ers of  the  mind  are  abundantly  elevated,  as  diseased  mus- 
cles alone  produce  pearls" 

Few  dramatic  works  have  ever  been  so  much  abused  as 
this  by  the  critics.  Even  in  our  own  day,  we  continually 
hear  it  condemned  as  a  mawkish"  combination  of  false  sen- 
timent, exaggerated  passion  and  unnatural  incident.  And 
yet  for  more  than  half  a  century  it  has  kept  rooted  posses- 
sion of  the  stage  in  every  city  of  Europe  and  America 
where  the  drama  exists ;  and  at  the  present  time  its  popu- 
larity seems  greater  than  ever,  if  we  may  judge  from  the 
frequency  of  its  representation.  It  is  therefore  idle  for  the 
critics  to  storm  and  sneer.  Time,  the  great  umpire,  and 
the  popular  heart,  give  them  the  lie.  That  interpretation 
of  human  passion  cannot  be  wholly  false,  which  awakens 
so  many  responses.  The  sentiment  cannot  be  wholly 
mawkish  or  sickly,  which,  among  various  people  and  at 
various  times,  touches  the  deepest  sensibilities  of  an  audi- 
ence. 

It  cannot  be  denied,  however,  that  there  is  something 
repulsive  in  the  terminating  scene  of  this  play  as  it  exists 
in  the  original  German,  where  the  erring  wife  and  the 
misanthropic  husband  are  reconciled.  It  is  but  fair  to  give 
the  author's  own  views  on  this  subject.  "  Among  other 
accusations  that  have  been  brought  against  me,"  he  says, 
'•  it  has  been  urged  that  I  have  not  administered  strict  po- 


IT  EDITORIAL    INTRODUCTION 

etical  justice  in  granting  unqualified  pardon  to  Eulalia 
(Mrs.  Haller),  and  restoring  so  great  a  criminal  to  her  sta- 
tion in  society  and  to  every  joy  of  life.  But  no  one  seems 
to  have  considered  the  dreadful  punishment  she  has  neces- 
sarily incurred  from  the  reflections  upon  her  own'miscon- 
duct,  or  to  have  examined  whether  any  pardon  could  re- 
lease her  from  those  reflections,  and  whether  a  woman  with 
such  a  mind,  laboring  under  the  pressure  of  a  sullied  con- 
science, could  ever  be  happy  again. 

This  is  an  ingenious,  but  by  no  means  a  satisfactory  de- 
fence of  Kotzebue's  conception.  The  characters  of  both 
man  and  wife  suffer  in  their  reconciliation.  At  any  sacri- 
fice of  her  own  feelings,  Mrs.-  Haller  should  have  saved 
her  husband's  honor  from  the  profanation  involved  in  that 
reconciliation ;  and  he,  like  every  man  with  a  true  reve- 
rence for  the  pure  and  beautiful  in  woman,  should  have 
shunned  while  he  forgave  the  fascinating  penitent.  He 
loses  our  respect  the  moment  he  takes  her  again  to  his 
arms.  Some  of  our  best  actors  have  been  of  this  opinion  ; 
and  on  the  American  stage,  the  reconciliation  scene  is  ge- 
nerally omitted,  and  the  play  is  supposed  to  end  with  the 
catastrophe  of  the  final  separation  of  husband  and  wife. 

There  have  been  several  English  versions  of  the  Stran- 
ger. The  present  one,  which  is  the  most  approved,  is  by 
Benjamin  Thompson,  and  has  had  the  advantage  of  the 
emendations  of  Sheridan  and  John  Philip  Kemble.  One 
of  the  most  distinguished  personators  of  the  character  of 
the  Stranger  was  John  Palmer,  whose  tragical  death  will 
always  be  remembered  in  connection  with  the  history  of 
this  play.  He  was  enacting  the  part  of  the  hero  on  the 
Liverpool  stage,  and  had  exerted  himself  with  great  effect 
until,  on  uttering,  in  a  tone  of  indescribable  pathos,  the 
words, 

"  There  is  another  and  a  better  world," 

he  seemed  overpowered  with  emotion.  He  paused  foi 
the  space  of  almost  ten  seconds  as  if  waiting  for  the 
prompter  to  give  him  the  word — then  put  out  his  "right 
hand — heaved  a  convulsive  sigh — fell,  and  never  breathed 
after — dying  apparently  without  a  pang.  The  audience 
for  some  minutes  supposed  he  was  merely  acting  his  part ; 
but,  on  the  truth  being  known,  the  excitement  was  intense, 
and  the  house  was  immediately  -  cleared.  Palmer  had 


TO    THK    STRANGER. 

been  suffering  for  some  days  from  great  dt  pression  of 
spirits  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  his  wife  and  a  favorite  son. 
A  parallel  instance  to  this  is  that  of  Peterson,  the  actor, 
who,  in  1758,  while  playing  the  Duke  in  Measure  for 
Measure,  in  an  unusually  masterly  style,  came  to  these 
words  : 

" Reason  thus  with  life: 

ft  If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 

'•  That  none  but  fools  would  keep :  a  breath  thou  art" — 

here  he  dropped  into  the  arms  of  Mr.  Moody,  the  Claudio 
of  the  evening,  and  never  spoke  more  ! 

Augustus  Von  Kotzebue,  the  author  of  the  "  Stranger," 
was  doomed  at  the  age  of  fifty-eight  to  meet  with  a  death 
quite  as  tragical  as  any  he  had  imagined  for  the  hero  of  his 
many  dramas.  The  23d  of  March,  1819,  he  was  assassina- 
ted in  his  own  house  at  Manheim  by  Karl  Ludwig  Sand, 
a  political  fanatic,  who  denounced  his  victim  as  a  traitor 
to  his  country  and  a  stipendiary  of  Russia.  Two  or  three 
minutes  before  receiving  his  death-wound,  Kotzebue  was 
seated  with  his  family.  Some  lady  visitors  entered  the 
room,  and  after  the  usual  compliments  were  exchanged,  lie 
remarked,  while  holding  his  youngest  son,  scarcely  two 
months  old,  in  his  arms,  "  I  was  exactly  the  age  of  this 
child  when  my  father  died."  The  next  moment  Kotzebue 
was  called  out  to  see  Sand,  and,  before  many  momenta 
more  had  elapsed,  his  mortal  career  was  terminated. 

Of  such  coincidences  we  may  say  with  Hamlet,  "  there 
is  something  in  them,  more  than  natural*  if  philosophy  could 
but  find  it  out." 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 

Drury  Lane,  182C.  Park,  I"4B. 

'She  Stranger Mr.  Kent).  Mr.  G.  Vundcuhott 

Baron  Si einf art "    Archer.  "     DyotU 

Count  Wiuterten   "    Mp.rcer.  "     Bland. 

Mr.  Solomon   "    Terry.  "     Bass. 

Peter »     Harloy.  "     Fisher. 

Francis "     Powell.  "    Barry. 

Tobias «'     Penley.  "     Amlrrson. 

George "     Povey.  "     Gallot. 

Count's  Son  (five  year g  old) Muster  I.  Carr.  Master  Jones. 

Stranger's  Son,        do.  Master  J.  Carr.  Master  House. 

Mrs.  Holler Mrs.  West.  Mrs.  Mowatt. 

Countess  Wintersen "      Orger.  "      Abbott. 

Charlotte .*    "      Hughes.  "      Knight. 

Annette Miss  Povey.  Miss  W  ilk  ins. 

Claadiite Miss  Cubit.  Miss  Burrows. 

Stranger'*  Daughter  (four  yean  old)  . .  Miss  King. 
Susan,  Servants,  Dancer*,  t(C. 

COSTUMES. 

STRANGER. — Dark  grey  doublet  and  pantaloons  trimmed  with  black  yelvet,  boot* 

and  slouch  hat. 
BARON  STEIN  FORT.— White  body  nnd  pantaloons,  with  scarlet  hussar  cloak 

and  sleeves,  hanging  over  one  shoulder,  the  whole  trimmed  with  gold  lace;  lies- 

sian  boots,  cup  and  leathers. 

COUNT  WINTERSEN.— A  gretn  dress  of  the  same  make. 
SOLOMON. — Brown  coat,  scarlet  embroidered   waistcoat,  black  velvet  breeches, 

striped  stockings,  shoes,  buckles,  full  curled  powdered  wig.—  Second  dress:  flow- 
ered silk  .-mi  and  white  stocking*. 

FRANCIS. — Drab-colonred  doublet  and  pantaloons,  russet  boots,  and  round  cap. 
PETER.— White  cotton  body,  grey  fly  und  trunks,  blue  stockings,  russet  shoes, 

small  round  white  hat,  broad  shirt  collar. — Second  dress  :  Flowered  silk  suit  and 

white  stockings. 
TOBIAS. — Dark  drab  or  grey  body,  with  trunks  of  same,  blue  stockings,  cap,  and 

shoes. 
COUNT'S  SON.— Light  blue  suit,  silver  buttons  and  sash,  white  stockings,  shoes, 

and  cap. 
WILLIAM  (the   Stranger's  Son.)  —  Buff-coloured  dress,  white   stockings,  shoes, 

sush,  and  cap. 

GEORGE. — Drab  or  grey  jerkin  and  trunks,  blue  stockings  and  shoes. 
MRS.  11ALLER. — Neat  white  muslin  dress,  very  plainly  trimmed,  wliite  lace  head 

dress,  confined  in  ll;e  centre  of  the  forehead.  amWalling  over  the  shoulders. 
COUNTESS.— Travelling   pelisse,   hat  and   tassel.—  Second  dress:     While  satin 

richly  trimmed.          «A 
CHARLOTTE. — Blue  or  pink  body  and  white  muslin  petticoat,  trimmed  with  th« 

sauu;  colour  as  the  body. 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 

R.  means  Right ;    L.Left:    R.  D.  Right  Door;    L.  D.  Left  Door 
8.  E.  Second  Entrance;   LI.  E.  Upper  Entrance;  M.  D.  Middle  Door 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 

R.,  means  Right;   L.,  Left;   C.,  Centre  ;    R.  C.,  Right  of  Cenl-e 
L.  C.,  Left  of  Centre. 

N.B.  Postage*  marked  icilh  Inverted  Commas,  are  usually  omitted  in  tkt 
representation. 


THE    STRANGER, 


AC  T    I. 

SCENE  I. — The  skirts  of  Count  Winter  sen' spark. —  The  park 
gates  in  the  centre. — On  the  R.  side,  a  low  lodge  among  the 
trees. — On  the  L.,  in  the  back-ground,  a  Peasant's  hut. 

Enter  PETER,  L. 

Pet.  POOH  !  pooh  ! — never  tell  me. — I'm  a  clever  lad, 
for  all  father's  crying  out  every  minute,  "  Peter,"  and 
"  stupid  Peter  !"  But  I  say,  Peter  is  not  stupid,  though 
father  will  always  be  so  wise.  First,  I  talk  too  much  ; 
then  I  talk  too  little  ;  and  if  I  talk  a  bit  to  myself,  he  calls 
me  a  driveller.  Now  I  like  best  to  talk  to  myself;  for  I 
never  contradict  myself,  and  I  don't  laugh  at  myself  as 
other  folks  do.  That  laughing  is  often  a  plaguy  teazing 
custom.  To  be  sure,  when  Mrs.  Haller  laughs,  one  can 
bear  it  well  enough  ;  there  is  a  sweetness  even  in  her  re- 
proof, that  somehow — But,  hid  !  I  had  near  forgot  what 
I  was  sent  about. — Yes,  then  they  would  have  laughed  at 
me  indeed. — [Draws  a  green  purse  from  his  pocket.} — I  am 
to  carry  this  money  to  old  Tobias  ;  and  Mrs.  Haller  said,  I 
must  be  sure  not  to  blab,  or  say  that  she  had  sent  it.  Well, 
well,  she  may  be  easy  for  that  matter;  not  a  word  shall 
drop  from  my  lips.  Mrs.  Haller  is  charming,  but  silly,  if 
father  is  right ;  for  father  says,  "  He  that  spends  his  monoy 
's  not  wise,"  but  "he  that  gives  it  away,  is  stark  mad." 

[Going  up  to  the  Hut,  L.  u.  E. 


8  THE    STRANGER.  I  ACT  I. 

Enter  the  STRANGER  from  the  Lodge,  R.  p.  E.  followed  by 
FRANCIS. — Jit  sight  of  Peter,  the  Stranger  stops,  looks  sus- 
piciously at  him.  Peter  stands  opposite  to  him,  with  his 
mouth  wide  open.  At  length  he  takes  off" his  hat,  scrapes  a 
bow,  and  goes  into  the  Hut,  L.  u.  E. 

Sfra.  Who  is  that  1 

Fru.  The  steward's  son. 

Stra.  Of  the  Castle? 

Fra.  Yes. 

Stra.  [After  a  pause. .]  You  were — you  were -speaking 
last  uijfht — 

Fra.  Of  the  old  countryman  ? 

Stra,.   Ay. 

Fra.  You  would  not  hear  me  out. 

Stra.  Proceed. 

Fra.  He  is  poor. 

Stra    Who  told  you  so  1 

Fra.t  Himself. 

Stra.  Ay,  ay  ;  he  knows  how  to  tell  his  story,  no  doubt. 

Fra.  And  to  impose,  you  think  ] 

Stra.  Right ! 

Fra.  This  man  does  not. 

Stra.  Fool! 

Fra.  A  feeling  fool  is  better  than  a  cold  skeptic. 

Stra.  False  ! 

Fra.  Charity  begets  gratitude. 

Stra.  False  ! 

Fra.  And  blesses  the  giver  more  than  the  receiver 

Stra.  True. 

Fra.  Well,  sir.     This  countryman — 

Stra.  Has  he  complained  to  you  ? 

Fra.  Yes. 

Stra.  He  who  is  really  unhappy,  never  complains. 
[Pauses.]  Francis,  you  have  had  means  of  education  be- 
yond your  lot  in  life,  and  hence  you  are  encouraged  to  at- 
tempt imposing  on  me  : — but  go  on. 

Fra.  His  only  son  has  been  taken  from  him. 

Stra.  Taken  from  him  1 

Fra.  By  the  exigency  of  the  times,  for  a  soldier. 

Stra.  Ay  ! 

Fra.  The  old  man  ^s  poor. 


SCEKE  I.]  THE    STRANGER 

Stra.  Tis  likely. 

Fra.  Sick  and  forsaken. 

Stra.  I  cannot  help  him. 

Fra.  Yes. 

Stra.  How  1 

Fra.  By  money.     He  may  buy  his  son's  release. 

Stra.  I'll  see  him  myself. 

Fra.  Do  so. 

Stra.  But  if  he  is  an  impostor! — 

Fra.  He  is  not. 

Stra.  In  that  hut  ? 

Fra.  In  that  hut.  [Strangir  goes  into  the  hut,  L.  u.  E.] 
A  good  master,  though  one  almost  loses  the  use  of  speech 
by  living  with  him.  A  man  kind  and  clear — though  I 
cannot  understand  him.  He  rails  against  the  whole  world, 
and  yet  no  beggar  leaves  his  door  unsatisfied.  I  have  now 
lived  three  years  with  him,  and  yet  I  know  not  who  he  is. 
A  hater  of  society,  no  doubt ;  but  not  by  Providence  in- 
tended to  be  so.  Misanthropy  in  his  head,  not  in  his 
heart. 

Enter  PETER  and  the  STRANGER^T-OW  the  Hut,  L.  u.  E. 

Pet.  Pray  walk  on. 

Stra.  [To  Francis.]  Fool !  [Crosses  to  Francis. 

So  soon  returned  ! 

Stra.  What  should  I  do  there  ? 

Fra.  Did  you  find  it  as  I  said  1 

Stra.  This  lad  I  found. 

Fra.  What  has  he  to  do  with  your  charity  ? 

Stra.  The  old  man  and  he  understand  each  other  per- 
fectly well.  (Crosses  to  R. 

Fra.  Howl 

Stra.  What  were  this  boy  and  the  countryman  doing? 

Fra.  [Smiting,  and  shaking  his  hcad.\  Well,  you  shall 
hear.  [To  Peter. \  Young  man,  what  were  you  doing  in 
that  hut1? 

Pet.  Doing  ! — Nothing. 

Fra.  Well,  but  you  could  r~>t,  go  there  for  nothing? 

Pet.  And  why  not,  pray  ] — But  I  did  go  there  for  no 
thing,  though. — Do  you  think  one  must  be  paid  for  every- 
thing 1 — If  Mrs.  Haller  were  to  give  me  but  a  smiling  look, 
I'd  jump  up  to  my  neck  in  the  great  pond  for  nothirg. 


10  THE    STRANGER.  [Acx  I 

Fra.  It  seems  then  Mrs,  Haller  sent  you  ? 

Pet.  Yes  she  did — But  I'm  not  to  mention  it  to  any- 
body. • 

Fra.   Why  so  ] 

Pet.  How  should  I  know?  "Look  you,"  says  Mrs. 
Haller,  "  Master  Peter,  be  so  good  as  not  to  mention  it  to 
anybody,"  [  With  muck  consequence  ]  "  Master  Peter,  be 
so  good" — Hi !  hi !  hi  ! — "  Master  Peter,  be  so" — Hi ! 
hi!  hi!— 

Fra.  Oh  !  that  is  quite  a  different  thing.  Of  course  you 
must  be  silent  then. 

Pet.  I  know  that ;  and  so  I  am  too.  For  I  said  to  old 
Tobias — says  I,  "  Now,  you're  not  to  think  as  how  Mrs. 
Haller  sent  this  money  ;  for  she  told  rne  not  to  say  a  word 
about  that  as  long  as  I  live,"  says  I. 

Fra.  There  you  were  very  right.  Did  you  carry  him 
much  money  1 

Pet.  I  don't  know  ;  I  did'nt  count  it,  It  was  in  a  bit  of 
a  green  purse.  Mayhap  it  may  be  some  little  matter  that 
she  has  scraped  together  in  the  last  fortnight  1 

Fra.  And  why  just  in  the  last  fortnight. 

Pet.  Because  about  a  fortnight  since,  I  ,  carried  him 
some  monSy  before. 

Fra.  From  Mrs.  Haller  ? 

Pet.  Ay,  sure  ;  who  else,  think  you  ]  Father's  not  such 
a  fool.  He  says  it  is  our  bounden  duty  as  Christians,  to 
take  care  of  our  money,  and  not  give  anything  away,  espe- 
cially in  summer  ;  for  then,  says  he,  there's  herbs  and 
roots  enough  in  conscience  to  satisfy  all  the  reasonable 
hungry  poor.  But  I  say,  father's  wrong,  and  Mrs.  Haller 
right, 

Fra.  Yes,  yes. — But  this  Mrs.  Haller  seems  a  strange 
woman,  Peter  ? 

Pet.  Ay,  at  times  she  is  plaguy  odd.  Why  she  II  sit 
and  cry  you  a  whole  day  through,  without  any  one  know- 
ing why,  or  wherefore.  And  somehow  or  other,  whenever 
she  cries  I  always  cry  too — without  knowing  why  or  where- 
fore. % 

Fra.  [To the  Stranger.]  Are  you  satisfied  1 

Stra,  Rid  me  of  that  babbler. 

Fra,   Good  day,  Master  Peter, 


THE    STRANGER.  11 

Pet.  You're  not  going  yet,  are  you  7 

Fra.  Mrs.  Haller  will  be  waiting  for  an  answer. 

Pet.  So  she  will.  And  I  have  another  place  or  two  to 
call  at.  [Takes  off' fits  liat  to  the  Stranger.]  Servant,  sir  ! 

Stra.   Pshaw  ! 

Pet.  Pshaw  !  What — he's  angry.  [Peter  turns  to  Fran- 
cis in  a  half  whisper.}  He's  angry,  I  suppose,  because  he 
can  get  nothing  out  of  me. 

Fra.  It  almost  seems  so. 

Pet.  Ay,  I'd  have  him  to  know  I'm  no  blab  !     \Exit,  L. 

Fra.  Now,  Sir  ! 

Stra.  What  do  you  want  ] 

Fro..   Were  you  not  wrong,  sir  ] 

Stra.  Hem  !      Wrong  ]  [Crosses,  L. 

Fra.  Can  you  still  doubt  1 

Stra.  I'll  hear  no  more  !  Who  is  this  Mrs.  Haller  1 
Why  do  I  always  follow  her  path]  Go  where  I  will,  when- 
ever I  try  to  do  good,  she  has  always  been  before  me. 

Fra.  You  should  rejoice  at  that. 

Stra.  Rejoice ! 

Fra,  Surely  !  that  there  are  other  good  and  charitable 
people  in  the  world  beside  yourself. 

Stra.  Oh,  yes  ! 

Fra.  Why  not  seek  to  be  acquainted  with  her  ]  I  saw 
her  yesterday  in  the  garden  up  at  the  Castle.  Mr.  Solo- 
mon, the  steward,  says  she  has  been  unwell,  and  confined 
to  her  room  almost  ever  since  we  have  been  here.  But 
one  would  not  think  it  to  look  at  her ;  for  a  more  beauti- 
ful creature  I  never  saw. 

Stra.  So  much  the  worse.     Beauty  is  a  mask. 

Fra.  In  her  it  seems  a  mirror  of  the  soul.  Her  chari- 
ties— — 

Stra.  Talk  not  to  me  of  her  charities.  All  women  wish 
to  be  conspicuous  : — in  town  by  their  wit ;  in  the  country 
r»y  their  heart. 

Fra.  'Tis  immaterial  in  what  way  good  is  done. 

Stra.  No  ;   'tis  not  immaterial. 

Fra.  To  this  poor  old  man,  at  least. 

Stra.  He  needs  no  assistance  of  mine. 

Fra.  His  most  urgent  wants,  indeed,  Mrs.  Haller  may 
have  relieved  ;  but  whether  she  has,  or  could  have  given 
as  much  as  would  purchase  liberty  for  the  son,  the  prop  a? 
his  age — 


12  THE   STRAJNOER  [Acr  I 

Stra.  Silence  !  I  will  not  give  him  a  doit !  [Crosses,  n.] 
You  interest  yourself  very  warmly  in  his  behalf.  Perhaps 
you  are  to  be  a  sharer  in  the  gift. 

Fra.  Sir,  sir,  that  did  not  come  from  your  heart. 

Stra.   [Recollecting  himself. \  Forgive  me  ! 

Fra.  My  poor  master !  How  must  the  world  have  used 
you,  before  it  could  have  instilled  this  hatred  of  mankind, 
this  constant  doubt  of  hopesty  and  virtue  ! 

Stra.  Leave  me  to  myself ! 

\  Throws  himself  on  a  seat,  R.  u.  E.  ;    takes  from  liis  pocket 
11  Zimmerman  on  Solitude"  and  reads. 

Fra.  [Aside,  surveying  him.]  Again  reading  !  Thus  it 
is  from  morning  till  night.  To  him  nature  has  no  beauty  ; 
life  no  charm.  For  three  years  I  have  never  seen  him 
smile.  [Tobias  enters  from  the  hut.]  What  will  be  his  fate 
at  last  1  Nothing  diverts  him.  Oh,  if  he  would  but  at- 
tach himself  to  any  living  thing !  Were  it  but  an  ani- 
mal— for  something  man  must  love. 

TOBIAS  advances,  L. 

Tab.  Oh  !  how  refreshing,  after  seven  long  weeks,  to 
feel  these  warm  sun-beams  once  again  !  Thanks  !  thanks  ! 
bounteous  Heaven,  for  the  joy  I  taste. 

[Presses  his  cap  between  his  hands,  looks  up  and  prays, — 
[The  Stranger  observes  him  attentively. 

Fra.  [To  the  Stranger.]  This  old  man's  share  of  earthly 
happiness  can  be  but  little  ;  yet  mark  how  grateful  he  is 
for  his  portion  of  it. 

Stra.  Because,  though  old,  he  is  but  a  child  in  the  lead- 
ing strings  of  Hope. 

Fra.  Hope  is  the  nurse  of  life. 

Stra.  And  her  cradle  is  the  grave. 

[Tobias  replaces  his  cap. — Francis  crosses  behind  to  L. 

Fra.  I  wish  you  joy.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  &o  much 
recovered. 

Tob.  Thank  you.  Heaven,  and  the  assistance  of  a  kind 
lady,  have  saved  me  for  another  year  or  two. 

Fra.  How  old  are  you,  pray  ] 

Tob.  Fourscore  and  four.  To  be  sure,  I  can  expect  but 
little  joy  before  I  die.  Yet,  there  is  another  and  a  better 
world. 

Fra.  To  the  unfortunate,  then,  death  is  scarce  an  evil  ? 


SCENE  I.] 


THE    STRANGER.  13 


Tab.  And  am  T  so  unfortunate  ?  Do  I  not  enjoy  this 
glorious  morning  \  Am  I  not  in  health  again  1  Believe 
me,  sir,  he,  who,  leaving  the  bed  of  sickness,  for  the  first 
time  breathes  the  fresh  pure  air,  is,  at  that  moment,  the 
happiest  of  his  Maker's  creatures. 

Fra.  Yet  'tis  a  happiness  that  fails  upon  enjoyment. 

Tob.  True  ;  but  less  so  in  old  age.  Some  sixty  years 
ago,  my  father  left  me  this  cottage.  I  was  a  strong  lad  ; 
and  took  an  honest  wife.  Heaven  blessed  my  farm  with 
rich  crops,  and  my  marriage  with  five  children.  This  last- 
ed nine  or  ten  years.  Two  of  my  children  died.  I  felt  it 
sorely.  The  land  was  afflicted  with  a  famine.  My  wife 
assisted  me  in  supporting  our  family  ;  but  four  years  after 
she  left  our 'dwelling  for  a  better  place.  And  of  my  five 
children,  only  one  son  remained.  This  was"  blow  upon 
blow.  It  was  long  before  I  regained  my  fortitude.  At 
length,  resignation  and  religion  had  their  effect.  I  again 
attached  myself  to  life.  My  son  grew,  and  helped  me  in 
my  work.  Now  the  State  has  called  him  away  to  bear  a 
musket.  This  is  to  me  a  loss  indeed.  I  can  work  no  more. 
I  am  old  and  weak  ;  and  true  it  is,  but  for  Mrs.  Haller,  I 
must  have  perished. 

Fra.  Still,  then,  life  has  cnarms  for  you  1 

Tob.  Why  not,  while  the  world  holds  anything  that's 
dear  to  me  1  Have  not  I  a  son  ] 

Fra.  Who  knows  that  you  will  ever  see  him  more  1  He 
may  be  dead, 

Tob.  Alas  !  he  may.  But  as  long  as  I  am  not  sure  of 
it,  he  lives  to  me.  And,  if  he  falls,  'tis  in  his  country's 
cause.  Nay,  should  I  lose  him,  still  I  should  not  wish  to 
die.  Here  is  the  hut  in  which  I  was  born.  Here  is  the 
tree  that  grew  with  me  ;  and,  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  con- 
fess it — I  have  a  dog  which  I  love. 

[Stranger  rises  and  advances,  R. 

Fra.  A  dog ! 

Tob.  Yes  ! — Smile,  if  you  please  :  but  hear  me.  My 
benefactress  once  came  to  my  hut  herself,  some  time  be- 
fore you  fixed  here.  The  poor  animal,  unused  to  see  the 
form  of  elegance  and  beauty  enter  the  door  of  penury, 
growled  at  her. — "  I  wonder  you  keep  that  surly,  ugly  ani- 
mal, Mr.  Tobias,"  said  she  ;  "  you  who  have  hardly  food 
enough  for  yourself." — "  Ah,  madam,"  I  replied,  "  and  if 


14  THE    STRANGER. 


[Acr  I 


I  part  with  him,  are  you  sure  that  anything  else  will  love 
me?" — She  was  pleased  with  my  answer. 

Fra.  [To  Stranger.}  Excuse  me,  sir;  but  I  wish  you 
had  listened. 

Stra.  I  have  listened.  [Crosses,  c. 

Fra.  Then  sir,  I  wish  you  would  follow  this  poor  old 
man's  example. 

Stra.  Here;  take  this  book  and  lay  it  on  my  desk. 
[Francis  goes  into  the  Lodge  with  the  book.]  How  much  has 
this  Mrs.  Haller  given  you  1 

Tob.  Oh,  sir,  she  has  given  me  so  much  that  I  can  look 
towards  winter  without  fear. 

Stra.  No  more  1 

Tob.  What  could  I  do  with  more  1 — Ah  !  true  ;  I 
might — 

Stra.  I  know  it. — You  might  buy  your  son's  release. — 
There  !  [Presses  a  purse  into  /tis  hand,  and  exit,  R. 

Tob.  What's  all  this  1  [Opens  the  purse,  and  finds  it  full 
of  gold.]  Merciful  heaven  ! 

Enter  FRA.Ncisfrom  the  Lodge,  just  in  time  to  see  the  Stran- 
ger give  the  purse. 

— Now  look,  sir  :  is  confidence  in  Heaven  unrewarded  ] 

Fra.  I  wish  you  joy  !     My  master  gave  you  this  ? 

Tob.  Yes,  your  noble  master.     Heaven  reward  him  ! 

Fra.  Just  like  him.  He  sent  me  with  his  book,  that  no 
one  might  be  witness  to  his  bounty. 

Tob.  He  would  not  even  take  my  thanks.  He  was  gone 
before  I  could  speak. 

Fra.  Just  his  way. 

Tob.  Now  I'll  go  as  quick  as  these  old  legs  will  bear  me. 
What  a  delightful  errand  !  I  go  to  release  my  Robert ! 
How  the  lad  will  rejoice  !  There  is  a  girl,  too,  in  the  vil- 
lage, that  will  rejoice  with  him.  O,  Providence,  how  good 
art  thou  !  .  [Exit,  L. 

SCENE  II. — An  Antichamber  in  Wintersen  Castle. 
Enter  SUSAN,  R.  meeting  GEORGE,  L. 

Susan.  Why,  George  !  Harry  !  W"here  have  you  been 
loitering  1  Put  down  these  things.  Mrs.  Haller  has  been 
calling  for  you  this  half  hour. 


THE    STRANGER.  15 

Geo.  Well,  here  I  am,  then.  What  does  she  want  with 
me  ? 

Susan.  That  she  will  tell  you  herself.     Here  she  comes 

Enter  MRS.  HALLER,  witli  a  letter :    HANNAH  following,  R. 

Mrs.  H.  Very  well  ;  if  those  things  are  clone,  let  the 
drawing  room  be  made  ready  immediately. — [Exeunt 
Maids,  R.]  And,  George,  run  immediately  into  the  park, 
and  tell  Mr.  Solomon  I  wish"  to  speak  with  him.  [Exit 
George,  L.j  I  cannot  understand  this.  I  do  not  learn 
whether  their  coming  to  this  place  be  but. the  whim  of  a 
moment,  or  a  plan  for  a  longer  stay  !  If  the  latter,  fare- 
well, solitude  !  Farewell,  study  '.—farewell ! — Yes,  I  must 
make  room  for  gaiety,  and  mere  frivolity.  Yet  could  I 
willingly  submit  to  all  :  but  should  the  Countess  give  me 
new  proofs  of  her  attachment,  perhaps  of  her  respect,  Oh  ! 
how  will  my  conscience  upbraid  me  !  Or  if  this  seat  be 
visited  by  company,  and  chance  should  conduct  hither  any 
of  my  former  acquaintance — Alas  !  alas  !  how  wretched 
is  the  being  who  fears  the  sight  of  any  one  fellow-creature  I 
But,  oh  !  superior  misery  !  to  dread  still  more  the  pi'esence 
of  a  former  friend  ! — [Peter  knocks,  L.]  Who's  there  1 

Enter  PETER,  L. 

Pet.  Nobody.     It's  only  me. 

Mrs.  Jf.  So  soon  returned  1 

Pet.  Slr*rp  lad,  an't  I !  On  the  road  I've  had  a  bit  of 
talk  too,  and — 

Mrs.  H.  But  you  have  observed  my  directions  1 

Pet.  Oh,  yes,  yes  : — I  told  old  Tobias  as  how  he  would 
never  know,  as  long  as  he  lived,  that  the  money  came  from 
you. 

Mrs.  H.  You  found  him  quite  recovered,  I  hope  ? 

Pet.  Ay,  sure  did  I.  He's  coming  out  to-day,  for  the 
first  time. 

Mrs.  H.  I  rejoice  to  hear  it. 

j      Pet.  He  said  that  he  was  obliged  to  yc  u  for  all ;    and 
before  dinner  would  crawl  up  to  thank  you. 

Mrs.  H.  Good  Peter,  do  me  another  service. 

Pet.  Ay,  a  hundred,  if  you  :11  only  let  me  have  a  good 
long  stare  at  you. 

Mrs.  H.  With  all  my  heart !    Observe  when  old  Tobiw 


16  THE    STRANGER.  [ACT  I- 

comes,  send  him  away.  Tell  him  I  am  busy,  or  asleep, 
or  unwell,  or  what  you  please. 

Pet.  I  will,  I  will. 

Sol.  [  Wit/tout.]  There,  there,  go  to  the  post-office. 

Mrs.  H.  Oh  !   here  comes  Mr.  Solomon. 

Pet.  What !  Father  1  Ay,  so  there  is.  Father's  a 
main  clever  man  : — he  knows  what's  going  on  all  over  the 
world. 

Mrs.  H.  No  wonder ;  for  you  know  he  receives  as  ma 
ny  letters  as  a  prime  minister  and  all  his  secretaries. 

Enter  SOLOMON,  L. — Peter  crosses  behind,  L. 

Sol.  Good  morning,  good  morning  to  you,  Mrs.  Haller. 
It  gives  me  infinite  pleasure  to  see  you  look  so  charmingly 
well.  You  have  had  the  goodness  to  send  for  your  hum- 
ble servant.  Any  news  from-the  Great  City  ]  There  are 
very  weighty  matters  in  agitation.  I  have  had  my  let- 
ters, too. 

Mrs.  H.  (Smiling.}  I  think,  Mr.  Solomon,  you  must 
correspond  with  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe. 

Sol.  Beg  pardon,  not  with  the  whole  world,  Mrs.  Hal- 
ler ;  but,  [consequentially,]  to  be  sure,  I  have  correspond- 
ents, on  whom  I  can  rely,  in  the  chief  cities  of  Europe, 
Asia,  Africa,  and  America. 

Mrs.  H.  And  yet  I  have  my  doubts  whether  you  know 
what  is  to  happen  this  very  day,  at  this  very  place. 

Sol.  At  this  very  place  !  Nothing  material.  We  meant 
to  have  sown  a  little  barley  to-day,  but  the  ground  is  too 
dry ;  and  the  sheep-shearing  is  not  to  be  till  to-morrow. 

Pet.   No,  nor  the  bull-baiting  till — 

Sol.  Hold  your  tongue,  blockhead !  Get  about  your 
business. 

Pet.  Blockhead  !  There  again  !  I  suppose  I'm  not  to 
open  my  mouth.  [To  Mrs.  H.]  Good  bye  !  [Exit,  R. 

Mrs.  H.  The  Count  will  be  here  to-day. 

Sol.  How!     What! 

Mrs.  If  With  his  lady,  and  his  brother-in-law,  Baron 
Stemfort. 

Sol.  My  letters  say  nothing  of  this.  You  are  laughing 
at  your  humble  servant. 

Mrs.  H.  You  know,  sir,  I'm  not  much  given  .  >  jesting 

Sol.  Peter!   (Crosses,  R.)    Good  lack-a-day  !    /lis  High 


ScEKBlI.]  THE   STRANGER.  17 

Honourable  Excellency  the  Count  Wintersen,  and  her 
Honourable  Excellency  the  Countess  Wintersen,  and  his 
Honourable  Lordship  Baron  Steinfort, — and,  Lord  have 
mercy  !  nothing  in  proper  order  ! — Here,  Peter  !  Peter  ! 

Enter  PETER,  n. 

Pet.  Well,  now,  what's  the  matter  again  1 

Sol.  Call  all  the  house  together,  directly  !  Send  to  the 
gamekeeper  :  tell  him  to  bring  some  venison.  Tell  Re 
becca  to  uncase  the  furniture,  and  take  the  covering  from 
the  Venetian  looking-glasses,  that  her  Right  Honourable 
Ladyship  the  Countess  may  look  at  her  gracious  counte- 
nance ;  and  tell  the  cook  to  let  me  see  him  without  loss  of 
time ;  and  tell  John  to*catch  a  brace  or  two  of  carp.  And 
tell — and  tell — and  tell — tell  Frederick  to  friz  my  Sunday 
wig.  Mercy  on  us — tell — There — Go  !  [Exit  Peter,  u.] 
Heavens  and  earth  !  So  little  of  the  new  furnishing  of 
this  old  castle  is  completed  ! — Where  are  we  to  put  his 
Honourable  Lordship  the  Baron  1 

Mrs.  H.  Let  him  have  the  little  chamber  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs ;  it  is  a  neat  room,  and  commands  a  beautiful 
prospect. 

Sol.  Very  right,  very  right.  [Crosses,  L.]  But  that  room 
has  always  been  occupied  by  the  Count's  private  secretary. 
Suppose — Hold,  I  have  it !  You  know  the  little  lodge  at 
the  end  of  the  park  :  we  can  thrust  the  secretary  in  that. 

Mrs.  H.  You  forget,  Mr.  Solomon  ;  you  told  me  that 
the  Stranger  lived  there. 

Sol.  Pshaw!  What  have  we  to  do  with  the  Stranger? 
Who  told  him  to  live  there  1  He  must  turn  out. 

Mrs.  H.  That  would  be  unjust ;  for  you  said  that  you' 
let  the  dwelling  to  him,  and  by  your  own  account  he  pays 
well  for  it. 

Sol.  He  does,  he  does.  But  nobody  knows  who  he  is. 
The  devil  himself  can't  make  him  out.  To  be  sure,  I 
lately  received  a  letter  from  Spain,  which  informed  mo 
that  a  spy  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  this  country,  arid  from 
the  description — 

Mrs.  H.  A  spy  !  Ridiculous!    Everything  I  have  heard 
bespeaks  him  to  be  a  man  who  may  be  allowed  to  dwell 
where.     His  life  is  solitude  and  silence. 

Sol.  So  it  is. 


18  THE   STRANGER.  [Aci   I 

Mrs.  II.  You  tell  me,  too,  he  does  much  good. 
Sol.  That  he  does. 

J\lrs.  H.  He  hurts  nothing  :  not  the  worm  in  his  way. 
Sol.  That  he  does  not. 
Mrs.  H.  He  troubles  no  one  ? 
Sol.  True,  true  ! 

Mrs.  H.  Well,  what  do  you  want  more  1 
Sol.  1  want  to  know  who  he  is.  If  the  man  would  only 
converse  a  little,  one  might  have  an  opportunity  of  pump- 
ing ;  but  if  one  meets  him  in  the  lime  walk,  or  by  the 
river,  it  is  nothing  but  "  Good  morrow ;"  and  off  he  mar- 
ches. Once  or  twice  I  have  contrived  to  edge  in  a  word  : 
"  Fine  day" — "  Yes,"  "  Taking  a  little  exercise,  I  per- 
ceive 1" — "  Yes" — and  off  again  like  a  shot.  The  devil 
take  such  close  fellows,  say  I.  And,  like  master  like  man 
— not  a  syllable  do  I  know  of  that  mumps,  his  servant,  ex- 
cept that  his  name  is  Francis. 

Mrs.  H.  You  are  putting  yourself  into  a  passion,  and 
quite  forget  who  are  expected. 

Sol.  So  I  do — mercy  on  us !  There  now,  you  see  what 
misfortunes  arise  from  m.t  knowing  people. 

Mrs.  II.  'Tis  near  twelve  o'clock  !  If  his  lordship  has 
stolen  an  hour  from  his  usual  sleep,  the  family  must  soon 
be  here.  I  go  to  my  duty  :  you  will  attend  to  yourtv,  Mr. 
Solomon.  [Exit,  R. 

Sol.  Yes,  I'll  look  after  my  duty,  never  fear.  There 
goes  another  of  the  same  class.  Nobody  knows  who  she 
is,  again.  However,  thus  much  I  do  know  of  her,  that 
her  Right  Honourable  Ladyship  the  Countess,  all  at  once, 
popped  her  into  the  house,  like  a  blot  of  ink  upon  a  sheet 
.of  paper;  but  why,  wherefore,  or  for  what  reason,  not  a 
soul  can  tell.  "  She  is  to  manage  the  family  within  doors." 
She  to  manage  !  Fire  and  faggots  !  Havn't  I  managed 
every  thing,  within  and-  without,  most  reputably,  these 
twenty  years  1  I  must  own  I  grow  a  little  old,  and  she 
does  take  a  deal  of  pains  ;  but  all  this  she  learned  of  me. 
When  she  first  came  here — mercy  on  us!  she  didn't  know 
th;it  linen  was  made  of  Rax  !  But  what  was  to  bo  expect- 
ed from  one  who  has  no  foreign  correspondence  1  [Exit,  L, 

END    OF    ACT    1.  * 


THE    STRANGER.  19 

ACT     IT. 

SCENE  I. — A  Drawing  Room  in  the  Castle,  with  Sefa  and 
Chairs. 

Enter  SOLOMON,  L. — Rural  music  heard  :-,.  without. 

Pet.  [  Without,  L.]  Stop  ;  not  yet,  not  yet ;  but  make 
way  there,  make  way,  my  good  friends,  tenants,  and  villa- 
gers.— John,  George,  Frederick  !  Good  friends,  make 
way. 

Sol.  It  is  not  the  Count :  its  only  Baron  Steinfort 
Stand  back,  I  say  ;  and  stop  the  music  ! 

Enter  BARON  STEINFORT,  L.  ushered  in  by  PETER,  who  mi- 
micks  and  apes  his  father. 

I  have  the  honour  to  introduce  to  your  lordship  myself, 
Mr.  Solomon,  who  blesses  the  hour  in  which  fortune  al- 
lows him  to  become  acquainted  with  the  Honorable  Baron 
Steinfort,  [Baron  2>asscs  Solomon  and  throws  himself  on  the 
Sofa,}  brotheiMn-law  of  his  Right  Honourable  Excellency 
Count  Wintersen,  my  noble  master. 

Pet.  Bless  our  noble  master  !          \Peter  is  on  R.  of  sofa. 

Bar.  Old  and  young,  I  see  they'll  allow  me  no  peace, 
[./foitfe.]  Enough,  enough,  good  Mr.  Solomon,  I  am  a  sol- 
dier, I  pay  but  few  compliments,  and  require  as  few  from 
others. 

Sol.  I  beg  pardon,  my  lord — We  do  live  in  the  country 
to  be  sure,  but  we  are  acquainted  with  the  reverence 'due 
to  exalted  personages.  [Sitting  beside  the  Baron,  L. 

Pet.  Yes — We  are  acquainted  with  exalted  personages. 

Bar.  What  is  to  become  of  me  1 — Well,  well,  I  hope 
we  shall  become  better  acquainted.  You  must  know,  Mr. 
Solomon,  I  intend  to  assist,  for  a  couple  of. months  at  least, 
iu  attacking  the  well  stocked  cellars  of  Wintersen. 

Sol.  Why  not  whole  years,  my  lord  ] — Inexpressible 
would  be  the  satisfaction  of  your  humble  servant.  And, 
though  I  say  it,  well-stocked  indeed  are  our  cellars.  ] 
have,  in  every  respect,  here,  managed  matters  in  so  frugal 
and  provident  a  way,  that  his  Right  Honorable  Excellency 
the  Count  will  be  astonished.  [Baron  yawns.]  Extremely 
sorry  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  entei  lain  your  lordship. 

Pet.  Extremely  sorry. 


20  THE    STRANGER.  [ ACT  II 

Sol.  Where  can  Mrs.  Haller  have  hid  heiself  1 

Bar.  Mrs.  Haller  !     Who  is  she  1 

Sol.  Why,  who  she  is,  I  can't  exactly  tell  your  lordship. 

Pet.  No,  nor  1. 

Sol.  None  of  any  correspondents  give  any  account  of 
her.  She  is  here  in  the  capactity  of  a  kind  of  a  superior 
housekeeper.  Methinks  I  hear  her  silver  voice  upon  the 
stairs.  [Crosses  R.,  Peter  crosses  behind  to  L.]  I  will  have 
the  honour  of  sending  her  to  your  lordship  in  an  instant. 

Bar.  Oh  !  don't  trouble  yourself. 

Sol.  No  trouble  whatever !  I  remain,  at  all  times,  your 
honorable  lordship's  most  obedient,  humble,  and  devoted 
servant.  [Exit,  bowing.  R. 

Pet.  Devoted  servant.  [Exit,  bowing,  L. 

Bar.  Now  for  a  fresh  plague.  Now  am  I  to  be  tor- 
mented by  some  chattering  old  ugly  hag,  till  I  am  stunned 
with  her  noise  and  officious  hospitality.  O,  patience ! 
what  a  virtue  art  thou  ! 

Enter  MRS.  HALLER,  R.  witJi  a  courtscy  ;    BA.RON  rises,  and 
returns  a  bow  in  confusion. 

[Aside.]  No,  old  she  is  not.  [Casts  another  glance  at  her.\ 
No,  by  Jove,  nor  ugly. 

Mrs.  H.  I  rejoice,  my  lord,  in  thus  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  brother  of  my  benefactress. 

Bar.  Madam,  that  title  shall  be  doubly  valuable  to  me, 
since  it  gives  me  an  introduction  equally  to  be  rejoiced  at. 

Mrs.  H.  [  Without  attending  to  thr.  compliment^  This 
lovely  weather,  then,  has  enticed  tb*»  Count  from  the  city. 

Bar.  Not  exactly  that.  You  know  him.  Sunshine  or 
clouds  are  to  him  alike,  as  long  as  eternal  summer  reigns 
in  his  own  heart  and  family. 

Mrs.  H.  The  Count  possesses  a  most  Cheerful  and  ami- 
able philosophy.  Ever  in  the  same  happy  humor ;  ever 
enjoying  each  minute  of  his  life.  But  you  must  confess, 
my  lord,  that  he  is  a  favourite  child  of  fortune,  and  has 
much  to  be  grateful  to  her  for.  Not  merely  because  she 
has  given  him  birth  and  riches,  but  for  a  native  sweetness 
of  temper,  never  to  be  acquired  ;  and  a  graceful  suavity 
of  manners,  whose  school  must  be  the  mind.  At:d,  need 
I  enumerate  among  fortune's  favours,  the  hand  and  flec- 
tions of  your  accomp]:6hed  sister  ? 


]  -THE    STRANGER.  21 

Bar.  [More  and  more  struck.]  True,  madam.  My  good 
easy  brother,  too,  seems  sensible  of  his  happiness,  and  is 
resolved  to  retain  it.  He  has  quitted  the  service,  to  live 
here.  I  am  yet  afraid  he  may  soon  grow  weary  of  Win- 
tersen  and  retirement. 

Mrs.  H.  I  should  trust  not.  They,  who  bear  a  cheerful 
and  unreproaching  conscience  into  solitude,  surely  must 
increase  the  measure  of  their  own  enjoyments.  They 
quit  the  poor,  precarious,  the  dependent  pleasures  which 
they  borrowed  from  the  world,  to  draw  a  real  bliss  from 
that  exhaustless  source  of  true  delight,  the  fountain  of  a 
pure  unsullied  heart. 

Bar.  Has  retirement  long  possessed  so  lovely  an  advo- 
cate ! 

Mrs.  H.  I  have  lived  here  three  years. 

Bar.  And  never  felt  a  secret  wish  for  the  society  you 
left,  and  must  have  adorned  ] 

Mrs.  H.  Never. 

Bar.  To  feel  thus,  belongs  either  to  a  very  rough  or  a 
very  polished  soul.  The  first  sight  convinced  me  in  which 
class  I  am  to  place  you. 

Mrs.  H.  \  With  a  sigh.]  There  may,  perhaps,  be  a  third 
class. 

Bar.  Indeed,  madam,  I  wish  not  to  be  thought  forward  ; 
but  women  always  seemed  to  me  less  calculated  for  re- 
tirement than  men.  We  have  a  thousand  employments, 
a  thousand  amusements,  which  you  have  not. 

Mrs.  H.  Dare  I  ask  what  they  are  ] 

Bar.  We  ride — we  hunt — we  play — read — write — 

Mrs.  H.  The  noble  -enjoyments  of  the  chase,  and  the 
still  more  noble  enjoyments  of  play,  I  grant  you. 

Bar.  Nay,  but  dare  I  ask,  what  are  your  employments 
for  a  day  1 

Mrs.  H.  Oh,  my  lord  !  you  cannot  imagine  how  quickly 
time  passes,  when  a  certain  uniformity  guides  the  minutes 
of  our  life.  How  often  do  I  ask,  "  Is  Saturday  come 
again  so  soon  V  On  a  bright  cheerful  morning,  my  books 
and  breakfast  are  carried  out  upon  the  grass-nlot.  Then 
is  the  sweet  picture  of  reviving  industry,  and  eager  inno- 
cence, always  new  to  me.  The  Bird's  notes  so  often  heard, 
still  waken  new  ideas  :  the  herds  are  led  into  the  fields  : 
the  peasant  bends  his  eye  upon" his  plough.  Every  thing 
lives  and  moves  ;  and  in  every  creature's  mind,  it  seems 


1Z%  THE    STRANGER.  [ACT  II 

as  it  were  morning.  Towards  evening,  I  begin  to  roam 
abroad :  from  the  park  into  the  meadows.  And  some- 
times, returning,  I  pause  to  look  at  the  village  boys  and 
girls  as  they  play.  Then  do  I  bless  their  innocence,  and 
pray  to  Heaven  those  laughing  thoughtless  hours  could  be 
their  lot  for  ever. 

Bar,  This  is  excellent ! — But  these  are  summer  amuse- 
ments. The  winter  !  The  winter ! 

Mrs.  H.  Why  for  ever  picture  winter  like  old  age,  tor- 
pid, tedious,  and  uncheerful  ?  Winter  has  its  own  delights: 
this  is  the  time  to  instruct  and  mend  the  mind  by  reading 
and  reflection.  At  this  season,  too,  I  often  take  my  harp, 
and  amuse  myself  by  playing  or  singing  the  little  favorite 
airs  that  remind  me  of  the  past,  or  solicit  hope  for  the  fu- 
ture. 

Bar.  Happy  indeed  are  they,  who  cun  thus  create  and 
vary  their  own  pleasures  and  employments. 

Enter  PETER,  L.     (Mrs.  Haller  crosses  to  Peter.) 

Pet.  Well — well — Pray  now — I  was  ordered — I  can 
keep  him  out  no  longer — 'Tis  old  Tobias:  he  will  come 
in. 

Enter  TOBIAS,  L.,  forcing  his  way :  Exit  Peter,  L. 

Tab.  I  must,  good  Heaven,  I  must. 

Mrs.  H.  \  Confused.]  I  have  no  time  at  present — I — I — 
You  see  I  am  not  alone. 

Tob.  Oh  !  this  good  gentleman  will  forgive  me. 

Bar.  What  do  you  want  ? 

Tob.  To  return  thanks.  Even  charity  is  a  burden  if  one 
may  riot  be  grateful  for  it. 

Mrs.  H.  To-morrow,  good  Tobias  ;  to-morrow. 

Bar.  Nay,  no  false  delicacy,  madam.  Allow  him  to  vent 
the  feelings  of  his  heart ;  and  permit  me  to  witness  a  scene 
which  convinces  me,  even  more  powerfully  than  your  con- 
versation, how  nobly  you  employ  your  time.  Speak,  old 
man. 

Tob.  Oh,  lady,  that  each  word  which  drops  from  my 
lips,  might  call  down  a  blessing  on  your  head  !  I  lay  for- 
saken and  dying  in  my  hut :  not  even  bread  or  hope  re- 
mained. Oh  !  then  you  came  in  the  form  of  an  angel  ; 
brought  medicines  to  UK*;  and  your  sweet  consoling  voice 
clIJ  more  than  those  [  am  recovered.  To-day,  for  the 


THE   STRANGER.  23 

first  time,  I  have  returned  thanks  in  the  presence  of  the 
sun  :  and  now  I  come  to  you,  noble  lady.  Let  me  drop 
iriy  tears  upon  your  charitable  hand.  For  your  sake,  Hea- 
ven has  blessed  my  latter  days.  The  Stranger  too,  who 
lives  near  me,  has  given  me  a  purse  of  gold  to  buy  my 
son's  release.  I  am  on  aiy  way  to  the  city  :  I  shall  pur- 
chase my  Robert's  release.  Then  I  shall  have  an  honest 
daughter-in-law.  And  you,  if  ever  after  that  you  pass  our 
happy  cottage,  oh  !  what  must  you  feel  when  you  say  to 
yourself,  "  This  is  my  work  !" 

Mrs.  If.  [/«  a  tone  of  entreaty.}  Enough,  Tobias  ; 
enough ! 

Tub.  I  beg  pardon  !  I  cannot  utter  what  is  breathing  in 
my  breast.  There  is  One  who  knows  it..  May  His  bles- 
sing and  your  own  heart  reward  you  !  [Exit,  i.. 

Mrs.  H.  [Endeavoring  to  bring  about  a  conversation.]  1 
suppose,  my  lord,  we  may  expect  the  Count  and  Countess 
every  moment  now  ] 

Bar.  Not  just  yet,  madam.  He  travels  at  his  leisure. 
I  am  selfish,  perhaps,  in  not  being  anxious  for  his  spe.ed  : 
the  delay  has  procured  me  a  delight  which  I  never  shall 
forget. 

Mrs.  H.  [Smiling.]   You  satirise  mankind,  my  lord. 

Bar.  How  so  ] 

Mrs.  If.  In  supposing  such  scenes  to  be  uncommon. 

Bar.  I  confess  I  was  little  prepared  for  such  ah  acquain- 
tance as  yourself:  I  am  extremely  surprised.  When  So- 
lomon told  me  your  name  and  situation,  how  could  I  sup- 
pose that Pardon  my  curiosity  :  You  have  been,  or 

are  married  1 

Mrs.  H.  [Suddenly  sinking  from  her  cheerful  raillery  into 
mournful  gloom.}  1  have  been  married,  my  lord. 

Bar.  [  IV/tose  enquiries  evince  curiosity,  yet  are  restrained 
within  the  bounds  of  the  nicest  respect.}  A  widow,  then  ] 

Mrs.  H.  I  beseech  you — There  are  strings  in  the  hu- 
man heart,  which,  touched,  will  sometimes  utter  dreadful 
discord — 1  beseech  you — 

Bar.  I  understand  you.  1  see  you  know  how  to  con- 
ceal every  thing  except  your  perfections. 

'Mrs.  H.  My  perfections,  ala* !  [Rural  music  without,  L.] 
But  1  hear  the  happy  tenantry  announce  the  Count's  arrival. 
Your  pardon,  my  lord  ;  I  must  attend  them.  [Exit,  L. 


24  THE    STRANGEE.  [ACT  II 

Bar.  Excellent  creature  ! — What  is  she,  and  what  can 
be  her  history  ]  I  must  seek  my  sister  instantly.  How 
strong  arid  how  sudden  is  the  interest  I  feel  for  her !  But 
it  is  a  feeling  I  ought  to  check.  And  yet,  why  so  1  What- 
ever are  the  emotions  she  has  inspired,  1  am  sure  they  arise 
from  the  perfections  of  the  mind  ;  and  never  shall  be  met 
by  unworthiness  in  mine.  [Exit,  L. 

SCENE  Il.-r-The  Lawn. 
(Rural  Music,  i.J 

Enter  SOLOMON  and  PETER,  L.  ushering  in  the  COUNT, 
CHILD,  COUNTESS  WINTERSEN  leading  the  Child;  MRS. 
HALLER,  the  BARON,  and  SERVANTS  following. 

Sol.  Welcome,  ten  thousand  welcomes,  your  Excellen- 
cies ! 

Count.  Well !  here  we  are  !  Heaven  bless  our  advance 
and  retreat !  Mrs.  Haller,  I  bring  you  an  invalid,  who  in 
future  will  swear  to  no  flag  but  yours. 

Mrs.  H.  Mine  flies  for  retreat  and  rural  happiness. 

Covnt.  But  not  without  retreating  Graces,  and  retiring 
Cupids  too. 

Covfltesx.  [  Who  has  in  the  meantime  kindly  embraced 
Mrs.  Haller,  and  by  her  been  welcomed  to  Winterscn.]  My 
dear  Count,  you  forget  that  I  am  present. 

Count.  Why,  in  the  name  of  chivalry,  how  can  I  do  less 
than  your  gallant  brother,  the  Baron,  who  has  been  so  kind 
as  nearly  to  kill  my  four  greys,  in  order  to  be  here  five 
minutes  before  me  1 

Bar.  II  I  had  known  all  the  charms  of  this  place,  you 
should  have  said  so  with  justice. 

Countess.  Don't  you  think  William  much  grown  ? 

[Puts  William  over  to  Mrs.  Haller. 

Mrs.  II.  The  sweet  boy  !  [Stoops  to  Idss  him,  and  deep 
melancholy  overshadows  her  countenance.  Retires  witli  the 
Child  a  little,  L 

Count.  Well,  Solomon,  you've  provided  a  good  dinner  i 

Sol.  As  good  as  haste  would  allow,  please  your  Right 
Honourable  Excellency ! 

Pet.  Yes.  as  good  as — 

[  Count  retires  a  little  n.,  with  Solomon  and  Ptler. 


THE    STRANGER.  26 

Bar.  Tell  me,   I  conjure  you,   sister,  what  jewel  you 
have  thus  buried  in  the  country  ? 

Countess.  Ha  !  ha  !     What,  brother,  you  caught  at  last  ? 

Bar.  Answer  me. 

Countess.  Well,  her  name  is  Mrs.  Haller. 

Bar.  That  T  know  ;  but — 

Countess.  But ! — but  I  know  no  more  myself. 

Bar.  Jesting  apart,  I  wish  to  know. 
Countess.  And,  jesting  apart,  I  wish  you  would  not 
plague  me.  I  have  at  least  a  hundred  thousand  important 
things  to  do.  Heavens  !  the  vicar  may  come  to  pay  his 
respects  to  me  before  I  have  been  at  my  toilet ;  of  course 
T  must  consult  my  looking  glass  on  the  occasion.  Come, 
William,  [crossing,  R.J  will  you  help  to  dress  me,  or  stay 
with  your  father  1 

Count.  We'll  take  care  of  him.          [Goes  to  the  Child,  c. 

Countess.  Come,  Mrs.  Haller. 

[Jlfrs.  Haller  crosses  to  the  Countess. 
[Exit  with  Mrs.  Haller,  Susan  and  Hannah  following,  R, 

Bar.  [Aside,  and  going,]  I  am  in  a  very  singular  humor. 

[Crosses,  R. 

Count.  Whither  so  fast,  good  brother  1 

Bar.  To  my  apartment  :   I  have  letters  to — I — 

Count.  Pshaw  !  Stay.  Let  us  take  a  turn  in  the  park 
together. 

Bar.  Excuse  me.  I  am  not  perfectly  well.  I  should 
be  but  bad  company.  I —  [Exit,  R. 

Count.  [Solomon  and  Peter  advance  bowing,  R.J  Well, 
Solomon,  you  are  as  great  a  fool  as  ever,  [  see. 

Sol.  Ha  !  ha  !  At  your  Right  Honourable  Excellency's 
service. 

Count.  [Points  to  Peter.]  Who  is  that  ape  at  your  el- 
Dow  ] 

Sol.  Ape  ! — Oh  !  that  is — with  respect  to  your  Excel- 
lency be  it  spoken — the  son  of  my  body  ;  by  name,  Peter. 

[Peter  bows. 

Count.  So,  so  !     Well,  how  goes  all  on  ? 

Sol.  Well  and  good  ;  well  and  good.  Your  Excellency 
will  see  how  I've  improved  the  park.  You'll  not  know  it 
again.  A  hermitage  here ;  serpentine  walks  there  ;  an 
obelisk  ;  a  ruin  ;  and  all  so  sparingly,  all  done  with  the 
most  economical  economy. 


26  THE    STRANGER.  [  ACT  II 

Count.  We  1,  I'll  have  a  peep  at  your  obelisk  and  ruins, 
while  they  prepare  for  dinner. 

Sol,  1  have  already  ordered  it,  and  will  have  the  honor 
of  attending  your  Right  Honourable  Excellency. 

Count.  Come,  lead  the  way.  [Solomon  crosses,  L.]  Peter, 
attend  your  young  master  to  the  house  ;  [Gives  the  Child 
over  to  Peter,  \\.\  we  must  not  tire  him.  [Exeunt,  L.  u.  E. 
conducted  hy  Solomon  ;  George  and  Harry  follow. 

Pet.  We'll  go  round  this  way,  your  little  Excellency, 
and  then  we  shall  see  the  bridge  as  we  go  by ;  and  the 
new  boat,  wHi  all  the  fine  ribands  and  streamers.  This 
way,  your  little  Excellency.  [Exit,  leading  the  Child,  R.U.E. 

SCEXE  III. —  The  Antichamber. 
Enter  MRS.  HALLER,  R. 

Mrs.  H.  What,  has  thus  alarmed  and  subdued  me  ?  My 
tears  flow  ;  my  heart  bleeds.  Already  had  I  apparently 
overcome  my  chagrin  :  already  had  I  at  least  assumed  that 
easy  gaiety  once  so  natural  to  me,  when  the  sight  of  this 
child  in  an  instant  overpowered  me.  When  the  Countess 
called  him  William — Oh  !  she  knew  not  that  she  plunged 
a  poinard  in  my  heart.  I  have  a  William  too,  who  must 
be  as  tall  as  this,  if  he  be  still  alive.  Ah  !  yes,  if  he  be 
still  alive.  His  little  sister,  too!  Why,  fancy,  dost  thou 
rack  me  thus '(  Why  dost  thou  image  my  poor  children, 
fainting  in  sickness,  and  crying  to  their  mother  1  To  the 
mother  who  has  abandoned  them  ]  f  Weeps.]  What  a 
wretched  outcast  am  1  !  And  that  just  to-day  1  should  be 
doomed  to  feel  these  horrible  emotions  !  Just  to-day,  when 
disguise  was  so  necessary. 

Enter  CHARLOTTE,  R. 

Char.  [Entering.]  Very  pretty,  very  pretty  indeed  !  Bet- 
ter send  me  to  the  garret  at  once.  Your  servant,  Mrs. 
Haller.  I  beg,  madam,  1  may  have  a  room  fit  for  a  res- 
pectable person, 

Mrs.  H.  The  chamber  into  which  you  have  been  shown 
is,  I  think,  a  very  neat  one. 

Char.  A  very  neat  one,  is  it "?  Up  the  back  stairs,  and 
)ver  the  laundry  !  I  should  never  be  able  to  close  my  eyc«. 

Mrs,  U.  [  Very  mild/y.]  1  slept  there  a  whole  year 


ScEicElII.]  THE    STRANGER.  27 

Char.  Did  you  !  Then  I  advise  you  to  remove  into  it 
again,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  I'd  have  you  to  know, 
madam,  there  is  a  material  difference  between  certain  per- 
sons and  certain  persons.  Much  depends  upon  the  man 
ner  in  which  one  lias  been  educated.  1  think,  madam,  ii 
would  only  be  proper  if  you  resigned  your  room  to  me 

Mrs.  H.  If  the  Countess  desires  it,  certainly. 

Char.  The  Countess  !  Very  pretty,  indeed  !  Would  you 
have  me  think  of  plaguing  her  ladyship  with  such  trifles  \ 
I  shall  order' my  trunk  to  be  carried  wherever  1  please. 

Mrs.  H.  Certainly  ;   only  not  into  my  chamber. 

Char,  Provoking  creature  !  but  how  could  I  expect  to 
find  breeding  among  creatures  born  of  one  knows  not 
whom,  and  coming  one  knows  not  whence  1 

Mrs.  H.  The  remark  is  very  just. 

Enter  PETER,  in  haste,  L. 

Pet.  Oh  lud !     Oh  lud  !     Oh  lud  !     Oh  lud  ! 

Mrs.  H.  What's  the  matter  ! 

Pet.  The  young  Count  has  fallen  into  the  river !  His 
little  Excellency  is  drowned  ! 

Mrs.  H.   Who!     What? 

Pet.  His  honour,  my  young  master  ! 

Mrs.  H.  Drowned  ] 

Pet.  Yes. 

Mrs.  H.  Dead  ? 

Pet.  No;  he's  not  dead. 

Mrs,  H.  Well,  well,  then  softly ; — you  will  alarm  the 
Countess. 

Pet.  Oh  lud  !     Oh  lud  ! 

Enter  the  BARON,  R. 

Bar.  What  is  the  matter  ?     Why  all  this  noise  ? 

Pet.  Noise?     Why— 

Mrs.  H.  Be  not  alarmed,  my  lord.  Whatever  may 
have  happened,  the  dear  child  is  now  at  least  safe.  You 
said  so,  I  think,  master  Peter  1 

Pet.  Why,  to  be  sure,  his  little  Excellency  is  not  hurt  ; 
but  he's  very  wet,  though  :  and  the  Count  is  taking  him 
by  the  garden  door  to  the  house. 

Bar.  Right,  that  the  Countess  may  not  be  alarmed. 
But  how  could  it  happen  1  Pray  tell  us,  young  man  1 


28  THE    STRANGER. 


[ACT  I, 


Pet.   What    f.'orn  beginning  to  end  ]   \CrossingtoBaron. 

Mrs  Jl  >H'«ir  mind  particulars.  You  attended  the 
d^-t  ~-u:u>  ' 

P"i     '  •  ue. 

•••"/>    77.  Into  the  park? 

Pft.  True. 

Mrs.  H.  And  then  you  went  to  the  river  ] 

Pet.   True. — Why,  rabbit  it,  I  believe  you're  a  witch. 

Mrs.  H.  Well,  and  what  happened  further? 

Pet.  Why,  you  see,  his  dear  little  Excellency  would- 
see  the  bridge  that  father  built  out  of  the  old  summer 
house;  "and  the  streamers,  and  the  boat,  and  all  that. — I 
only  turned  my  head  round  for  a  moment,  to  look  after  a 
magpie — Crush  !  Down  went  the  bridge  with  his  little 
Excellency  ;  and  oh,  how  I  was  scared  to  see  him  carried 
down  the  river ! 

Bar.   And  you  drew  him  out  again  directly  ? 

Pet.  No,  I  did'nt. 

Mrs.  H.  No  ;  your  father  did  ? 

Pet.  No,  he  did'nt, 

Mrs.  H.  Why,  you  did  not  leave  him  in  the  water  ] 

Pet.  Yes,  we  did  ! — But  we  bawled  as  loud  as  we  could  ! 
You  might  have  heard  us  down  to  the  village. 

Mrs.  H.  Ay — and  so  the  people  came  immediately  to 
his  assistance  1 

Pet.  No,  they  did'nt ;  but  the  Stranger  came,  that  lives 
yonder,  close  to  old  Toby,  and  never  speaks  a  syllable. 
Odsbodkins!  What  a  devil  of  a  fellow  it  is!  With  a 
single  spring  bounce  he  slaps  into  the  torrent ;  sails  and 
dives  about  and  about  like  a  duck ;  gets  me  hold  of  the 
little  angel's  hair,  and,  Heaven  bless  him  !  pulls  him  safe 
and  sound  to  dry  land  again. — Ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 

Bar.  Is  the  Stranger  with  them  ? 

Pet.  Oh,  lud !  no.  He  ran  away.  His  Excellency 
wanted  to  thank  him,  and  all  that  ;  but  he  was  off;  van- 
quished— like  a  ghost.  [Crosses  to  R. 

Enti:r  SOLOMON,  L. 

SoL  Oh  !  thou  careless  varlet !  I  disown  you !  What 
an  accident  might  have  happened  !  And  how  you  have 
terrified  his  Excellency  !  \Crosses  to  J\Irs.  Hallei\]  But  I 
beg  pardon,  [Bows.]  His  Right  Honourable  Excellency, 
the  Count,  requests  your — 


THR    STRANGER.  29 

Bar.  We  come,     [drosses,  and  exit  wifi  Mrs  Haller,  L. 

Char.  [Advances,  u.\  Ha!  ha!  lia  !  Why,  Mr.  Solomon, 
you  scern  to  have  a  hopeful  pupil. 

Sol.  Ha!   sirrah! 

Char.  But  Mr.  Solomon,  why  were  you  not  nimble 
enough  to  have  saved  his  young  lordship? 

Sol.  Not  in  time,  my  sweet  Miss.  Besides,  merry  on 
us  !  1  should  have  sunk  like  a  lump  of  lead;  and  I  hap- 
pened to  have  a  letter  of  consequence  in  my  pocket,  which 
would  have  been  made  totally  illegible,  a  letter  from  Con- 
stantinople, written  by  Chevalier — -What's  his  name  ? 
\Draws  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  and  putting  it  up  again  di- 
rectly, drops  it.  Peter  takes  it  up  slily  and  unobserved.}  It 
contains  momentous  matter,  I  assure  you.  The  world  will 
be  astonished  when  it  comes  to  light ;  and  not  a  soul  will 
suppose  that  old  Solomon  had  a  finger  in  the  pie. 

Char.  No,  that  I  believe. 

Sol.  But  I  must  go  and  see  to  the  cellar.  Miss,  your 
most  obedient  servant.  Oh,  sirrah,  Oh  !  \Exit,  L. 

Char.  [  With  pride.}  Your  servant,  Mr.  Solomon. 

Pet.  Here's  the  letter  from  Constantinople.  I  wonder 
what  it  can  be  about.  Now  for  it !  [Opens  it. 

Char.  Aye,  let's  have  it. 

Pet.  [Reads.]  "  If  so  be  you  say  so,  Til  never  work  for 
you,  never  no  more.  Considering  as  how  your  Sunday  waist- 
coat 1ms  been  turned  three  times,  it  doesn't  look  amiss,  and 
I've  charged  as  little  as  any  tailor  of  'em  all.  You  say  1 
must  pay  for  the  buckram  ;  but  I  say,  I'll  be  damn'd  if  I  do. 
So  no  more  from  your  loving  nepliew,  TIMOTHY  TWIST." 
From  Constantinople  !  Why,  Cousin  Tim  writ  it. 

Cliar.  Cousin  Tim  !      Who  is  he  ? 

Pet.  Good  lack  !  Don't  you  know  cousin  Tim  1  Why, 
he's  one  of  the  best  tailors  in  all — 

Char.  A  tailor  !  No,  sir,  I  don't  know  him.  [Crosses  L.] 
My  father  was  a  state  coachman,  and  wore  his  Highness's 
livery.  [Exit,  L. 

Pet.  [Mimicking.]  "  My  father  was  a  state  coachman, 
and  wore  his  Highness's  livery." — Well,  and  cousin  Tim 
could  have  mad«  his  Highness's  livery,  if  you  go  to  that. 
S*ate  coachman,  indeed  !  [Exit,  L. 

END    OF    ACT    II. 


30  THE    STRANGER.  [  ACT  II 

ACT     III. 

SCENE  T. — Tie  Skirts  of  the  Park  and  Lodge,  Sfc.  as  before. 
The  STRANGER  is  discovered  on  a  seat,  reading. 

Enter  FRANCIS,  from  the  Lodge. 

Fra.  Sir,  sir,  dinner  is  ready.  [  Comes  forward,  L. 

Stra.  I  want  no  dinner. 

Fra.  I've  got  something  good. 

Stra.  Eat  it  yourself. 

Fra.  You  are  not  hungry  1 
.  Stra.  No.  [Ritet, 

Fra.  Nor  I.     The  heat  does  take  away  all  appetite. 

Stra.  Yes. 

Fra.  I'll  put  it  by  ;  perhaps  at  night — 

Stra.  Perhaps. 

Fra.  Dear  sir,  dare  1  speak  ? 

Stra.  Speak. 

Fra.  You  have  done  a  noble  action. 

Stra.  What? 

Fra.  You  have  saved  a  fellow  creature's  life. 

Stra.  Peace. 

Fra.  Do  you  know  who  he  was  1 

Stra.  No. 

Fra.  The  only  son  of  Count  Wintersen. 

Stra.  Immaterial. 

Fra.  A  gentleman,  by  report  worthy  and  benevolent  as 
yourself. 

Stra.  \Angry.}  Silence  !     Dare  you  flatter  me  ? 

Fra.  As  I  look  to  Heaven  for  mercy,  I  speak  from  my 
heart.  When  I  observe  how  you  are  doing  good  around 
you,  how  you  are  making  every  individual's  wants  your 
own,  and  are  yet  yourself  unhappy,  alas  !  my  heart  bleeds 
tor  you. 

Stra.  I  thank  you,  Francis.  [Crosses  L.]  I  can  only  thank 
you.  Yet  share  this  consolation  with  me  ; — my  sufferings 
are  unmerited.  [Crosses,  R. 

Fra.  My  poor  master  ! 

Stra.  Have  you  forgotten  what  the  old  man  said  this 
morning  ?  "  There  is  another  and  a  better  world  !"  Oh, 
'tis  true.  Then  let  us  hope  with  fervency,  and  yet  endure 
with  patience  ! — [Charlotte  sings  without.]  What's  here  1 


.]  .          THE  STRANGER.  31 

Enter  CHARLOTTE,  [singing,]  from  the  Park  Gate,  L.  u.  E. 

Char.  I  presume,  sir,  you  are  the  strange  gentleman 
that  drew  my  young  master  out  of  the  water? — \T/te 
Stranger  reads.}  Or,  [To  Francis.]  are  you  tyj  ]  [frauds 
makes  a  wry  face.}  Are  the  creatures  both  dumb  ]  [Looks 
at  them  by  turns.]  Surely,  old  Solomon  has  fixed  two  sta- 
tues here,  by  way  of  ornament ;  for  of  any  use  there  is  no 
sign.  [Approaches  Frauds.]  No,  this  is  alive,  and  breathes; 
yes,  and  moves  its  eyes.  [Bawls  in  his  ear.]  Good  friend ! 

Fra.  I'm  not  deaf. 

Char.  No,  nor  dumb,  I  perceive  at  last. — Is  yon  lifeless 
thing  your  master  ? 

Fra.  That  honest,  silent  gentleman,  is  my  master. 

Char.  The  same  that  drew  the  young  Count  out  of  the 
water  1 

Fra.  The  same. 

Char.  [To  the  Stranger.]  Sir,  my  master  and  mistress, 
the  Count  and  Countess,  present  their  respectful  compli- 
ments, and  request  the  honour  of  your  company  at  a  fa- 
mily supper  this  evening. 

Stra.  I  shall  not  come. 

Char.  But  you'll  scarce  send  such  an  uncivil  answer  as 
this.  The  Count  is  overpowered  with  giatitude.  You 
saved  his  son's  life. 

Stra.  I  did  it  willingly. 

Char.  And  won't  accept  of  "  I  thank  you,"  in  return  1 

Stra.  No. 

Char.  You  really  are  cruel,  sir,  I  must  tell  you.  There 
are  three  of  us  ladies  at  the  Castle,  and  we  are  all  dying 
with  curiosity  to  know  who  you  are.  [Exit  Stranger,  u.] 
The  master  is  crabbed  enough,  however.  Let  me  try  what 
I  can  make  of  the  man.  Pray,  sir — [Francis  crosses,  R.J — 
The  beginning  promises  little  enough.  Friend,  why  won't 
you  look  at  me  ] 

Fra.  I  like  to  look  at  green  trees  better  than  green  eyes. 

Char.  Green  eyes,  you  monster!  Who  told  you  that 
my  eyes  were  green  1  Let  me  tell  you,  there  have  been 
sonnets  made  on  my  eye.s  before  now.  Green  eyes  ! 

Fra.  Glad  to  hear  it. 

Ch-ar.  To  the  point,  then,  at  once.  What  is  your  mas- 
ter I 


32  THE   STRANGSR.  [Act  III 

Fra.  A  man. 

Char.  I  surmised  as  much.     But  what's  his  name  1 

Fra.  The  same  as  his  father's. 

Char.  Not  unlikely  ;  and  his  father  was — 

Fra.  Married. 

Char.  To  whom  ] 

Fra.  To  a  woman. 

Char.  [Enraged.]  I'll  tell  you  what ;  who  your  master 
is,  I  see  I  shall  not  learn,  and  I  don't  care;  but  I  know 
what  you  are. 

Fra.  Well,  what  am  1 1 

Char.  A  bear  !  [Exit  at  gate. 

Fra.  Thank  you  !  Now  to  see  how  habit  and  example 
corrupt  one's  manners.  I  am  naturally  the  civilest  spoken 
fellow  in  the  world  to  the  pretty  prattling  rogues  ;  yet,  fol- 
lowing my  master's  humour,  I've  rudely  driven  this  wench 
away.  I  must  have  a  peep  at  her,  though. 

[  Looking  towards  the  Park  Gate. 
Enter  STRANGER,  R. 

Stra.  Is  that  woman  gone  I 

Fra.  Yes. 

Stra.  Francis ! 

Fra.  Sir. 

Stra.  We  must  be  gone  too. 

Fra.  But  whither  ? 

Stra.  I  don't  care. 

Fra.  I'll  attend  you. 

Stra.  To  any  place  ? 

Fra.  To  death. 

Stra.  Heaven  grant  it — to  me,  at  least !     There  is  peace. 

Fra.  Peace  is  every  where.  Let  the  storm  rage  with- 
out if  the  heart  be  but  at  rest.  Yet  I  think  we  are  very 
well  where  we  are  :  the  situation  is  inviting  ;  and  nature 
lavish  of  her  beauties,  and  of  her  bounties  too. 

Stra.  But  I  am  not  a  wild  beast  to  be  stared  at,  and  sent 
for  as  a  show.  Is  it  fit  I  should  be  ] 

Fra.  Another  of  your  interpretations  !  That  a  man,  the 
life  of  whose  only  son  you  have  saved,  should  invite  you 
to  his  house,  seems  to  me  not  very  unnatural. 

Stra.  I  will  not  be  invited  to  any  house. 

Fra.  For  once,  methinks,  you  might  submit.  You'll  not 
be  asked  a  second  time.  [Half  aside. 


]  THE    STRANGER.  33 

Stra.  Proud  wretches !  They  believe  the  most  essen- 
tial service  is  requited,  if  one  may  but  have  the  honour  of 
.sitting  at  their  table.  Let  us  begone.  [Crosses,  L. 

Fra.  Yet  hold,  sir !  This  bustle  will  soon  be  over. 
Used  to  the  town,  the  Count  and  his  party  will  soon  be 
tired  of  simple  nature,  and  you  will  again  be  freed  from 
observation. 

Stra.  Not  from  your's. 

Fra.  This  is  too  much.     Do  I  deserve  your  doubts  ? 

Stra.  Am  I  in  the  wrong  1 

Fra.  You  are,  indeed  ! 

Stra.  Francis,  my  servant,  you  are  my  only  friend. 

Fra.  That  title  makes  amends  for  all. 

Stra.  But,  look  !  look,  Francis !  There  are  uniforms 
and  gay  dresses  in  the  walk  again.  No,  I  must  be  gone. 
Here  I'll  stay  no  longer.  [Crosses,  R. 

Fra.  Well,  then,  I'll  tie  up  my  bundle. 

Stra.  The  sooner  the  better !  They  come  this  way. 
Now  must  I  shut  myself  in  my  hovel,  and  lose  this  fine 
breeze.  Nay,  if  they  be  your  high-bred  class  of  all,  they 
may  have  impudence  enough  to  walk  into  my  chamber. 
Francis,  I  shall  lock  the  door. 

[Goes  into  the  Lodge,  locks  the  door,  and  is  fastening 
the  shutters. 

Fra.  And  I'll  be  your  sentinel. 

Stra.  Very  well.  [Closes  the  shutters. 

Fra.  Now,  should  these  people  be  as  inquisitive  as  their 
maid,  I  must  summon  my  whole  stock  of  impertinence. 
But  their  questions  and  my  answers  need  little  study. 
They  can  learn  nothing  of  the  Stranger  from  me  ;  for  the 
best  of  all  possible  reasons — I  know  nothing  of  him  myself. 

Enter  BARON  and  COUNTESS,  from  Gates. 

Countess.  [  Comes  down  c.j  There  is  a  strange  face.  The 
servant,  probably. 

Bar.  (L.)  Friend,  can  we  speak  to  your  master] 

Fra.  (R.)  No. 

Bar.  Only  for  a  few  minutes. 

Fra..  He  has  locked  himself  in  his  room. 

Countess.  Tell  him  a  lady  waits  for  him. 

Fra.  Then  he's  sure  not  to  come. 

Countess.  Does  he  hate  our  sex  ] 


34  THE   STRANGER.  [Asr  III 

Fra  He  hates  the  whole  human  race,  but  women  parti- 
cularly, 

Countess.  And  why  1 

Fra.  He  may  have  been  deceived. 

Countess.  This  is  not  very  courteous. 

Fra.  My  master  is  not  over  courteons  ;  but  when  he 
sees  a  chance  of  saving  a  fellow  creature's  life,  he'll  at- 
tempt it  at  the  hazard  of  his  own. 

Bar.  You  are  right.  Now  hear  the  reason  of  our  visit. 
The  wife  and  brother-in-law  of  the  man,  whose  child  your 
master  has  saved,  wish  to  acknowledge  their  obligations  to 
him. 

Fra.  That  he  dislikes.    He  only  wishes  to  live  unnoticed. 

Countess.  He  appears  to  be  unfortunate. 

Fra.  Appears  ! 

Countess.  An  affair  of  honor,  pethaps,  or  some  unhappy 
attachment  may  have — 

Fra.  It  may. 

Countess.  Be  this  as  it  may,  I  wish  to  know  who  he  is. 

Fra.  So  do*  I. 

Countess.   What !     Don't  you  know  him  yourself1? 

Fra.  Oh  !  I  know  him  well  enough.  I  mean  his  real 
self — His  heart — his  soul — his  worth — his  honour  ! — Per- 
haps you  think  one  knows  a  man,  when  one  is  acquainted 
with  his  name  and  person. 

Countess.  'Tis  well  said,  friend  ;  you  please  me  much. 
And  now  I  should  like  to  know  you.  Who  are  you  ? 

Fra.  Your  humble  servant.  [Exit,  R. 

Countess.  This  is  affectation  !  A  desire  to  appear  sin- 
gular !  Every  one  wishes  to  make  himself  distinguished. 
One  sails  round  the  world  ;  another  creeps  into  a  hovel. 

Bar.  And  the  man  apes  his  master ! 

Countess.  Come,  brother,  let  us  seek  the  Count.  He 
and  Mrs.  Haller  turned  into  the  lawn —  [Going. 

Bar.  Stay.     First,  a  word  or  two,  sistei .     1  am  in  lovo. 

Countess.  For  the  hundredth  time. 

Bar.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life. 

Countess.  I  wish  you  joy. 

Bar.  Till  now,  you  have  evaded  my  inquiries.  »  Who  is 
she  ?  I  beseech  you,  sister,  be  serious.  There  :.s  a  time 
for  all  things. 

Countess,  Well,  if  I  am  to  be  serious,  I  obey,     t  do  not 


SCEWE  I.]  THE    STRANGER.  35 

know  who  Mrs.  Haller  is,  as  I  have  already  told  you  ;  but 
what  I  do  know  of  her,  shall  not  lie  concealed  from  you. 
It  may  now  be  three  years  ago,  when,  one  evening,  about 
twilight,  a  lady  was  announced,  who  wished  to  speak  with 
me  in  private.  Mrs.  Haller  appeared,  with  all  that  grace 
and  modesty  which  have  enchanted  you.  Her  features,  at 
that  moment,  bore  keener  marks  of  the  sorrow  and  confu- 
sion which  have  since  settled  into  gentle  melancholy.  She 
threw  herself  at  my  feet ;  arid  besought  me  to  save  a  wretch 
who  was  on  the  brink  of  despair.  She  told  me  she  had 
heard  much  of  my  benevolence,  and  offered  herself  as  a 
servant  to  attend  me.  I  endeavoured  to  dive  into  the 
cause  of  her  sufferings,  but  in  vain.  She  concealed  her 
secret ;  yet  opening  to  me  more  and  more  each  day  a  heart, 
chosen  by  virtue  as  her  temple,  and  an  understanding  im- 
proved by  the  most  refined  attainments.  She  no  lon- 
ger remained  my  servant,  but  became  my  friend,  and,  by 
her  own  desire,  has  ever  since  resided  here.  [Curtseying.] 
Brother,  I  have  done. 

Bar.  Too  little  to  satisfy  my  curiosity  ;  yet  enough  to 
make  me  realize  my  project.  Sister,  lend  me  your  aid — 
I  would  marry  her. 

Countess.  You ! 

Bar.  I. 

Countess.  Baron  Steinfort  ! 

Bar.  For  shame  !      If  I  understand  you.         .. 

Countess.  Not  so  harsh,  and  not  so  hasty  !  Those  great 
sentiments  of  contempt  of  inequality  in  rank  are  very  fine 
in  a  romance  ;  but  we  happen  not  to  be  inhabitants  of  an 
ideal  world.  How  could  you  introduce  her  to  the  circle  we 
live  in  ]  You  surely  would  not  attempt  to  present  her  to — 

Bar.  Object  as  you  will — my  answer  is — 7  love.  Sister, 
you  see  a  man  before  you,  who — 

Countess.   Who  wants  a  wife. 

Bar.  No  ;  who  has  deliberately  poised  advantage  against 
disadvantage  ;  domestic  ease  and  comfort  against  the  false 
traieties  of  fashion.  lean  withdraw  into  the  country.  I 
need  no  honours  to  make  my  tenants  happy  ;  and  my  heart 
will  teach  me  to  make  their  happiness  my  own.  With  such 
a  wile  as  this,  children  who  resemble  her,  and  fortune 
enough  to  spread  comfort  around  me,  what  would  the  soul 
of  man  have  more  1 


36  THE    STRANGER. 


[Acr  III 


Countess.  This  is  all  vastly  fine.  I  admire  your  plan . 
only  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  one  trifling  circumstance. 

Bar.  And  that  is — 

Countess.  Whether  Mrs.  Haller  will  have  you  or  not. 

Bar.  There,  sister,  I  just  want  your  assistance. — Good 
Henrietta. 

Countess.  Well,  here's  my  hand.  I'll  do  all  I  can  for 
you.  St ! — We  had  near  been  overheard.  They  are  com- 
ing. Be  patient  and  obedient. 

Enter  at  the  Gates,  COUNT,  and  MRS.  HALLER  leaning  on 
his  arm,  L.      Tliey  advance,  c. 

Count.  Upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Haller,  you  are  a  nimble 
walker ;  I  should  be  sorry  to  run  a  race  with  you. 

Mrs.  H.  Custom,  my  lord.  You  need  only  take  the 
same  walk  every  day  for  a  month. 

Count.  Yes ;  if  I  wanted  to  resemble  my.  greyhounds. — 
Well,  what  says  the  Stranger  1 

Countess.  He  gave  Charlotte  a  flat '  dfusal ;  and  you  see 
his  door,  and  even  his  shutters  are  closed  against  us. 

Count.  What  an  unaccountable  being  !  But  it  won't  do. 
I  must  show  my  gratitude  one  way  or  other.  [Crosses  to 
Steinfort.]  Steinfoit,  we  will  take  the  ladies  home,  and 
then  you  shall  try  once  again  to  see  him.  You  can  talk  to 
these  oddities  better  than  I  can. 

Bar.  If  you  wish  it,  with  all  my  heart. 

Count.  Thank  you,  thank  you.  Come,  ladies ;  come 
Mrs.  Haller. 

[Exeunt  Countess  Sf  Mrs.  H.,  Count  fy  Baron,  thro1  Gates. 

SCENE  II. — A  Chamber  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  COUNTESS  and  MRS.  HALLER,  R. 

Countess.  Well,  Mrs.  Haller,  how  do  you  like  the  man 
that  just  now  left  us  ? 

Mrs.  H.  Who  do  you  mean,  madam  ] 

Countess.  My  brother. 

Mrs.  H.  He  deserves  to  be  your  brother. 

Countess.  [Curtseying.]  Your  most  obedient !  That  shall 
be  written  in  my  pocket  book. 

Mrs.  H.  Without  flattery,  then,  madam,  he  appears  to 
be  most  amiable. 


ScttJE  II.]  THE    STRANGER.  37 

Countess,  Good  ! — And  a  handsome  man  ? 

Mrs.  H.   [  With  indijfcrencc.\  Oh,  yes. 

Countess.  "  Oh,  yes  !"  It  sounded  almost  like  "  Oh, 
no  !"  But  I  must  tell  you.  that  he  looks  upon  you  to  be 
a  handsome  woman.  [Mrs.  Haller  smiles.}  You  make  no 
reply  to  this  1 

.Mrs.  II.  What  shall  I  reply  ]  Derision  never  fell  from 
your  lips  ;  and  I  am  little  calculated  to  support  it. 

Count.e.ss.  As  little  as  you  are  calculated  to  be  the  cause 
of  it.  No  ; — I  was  in  earnest. — Now  ? 

Mrs.  H.  You  confuse  me  ! — But  why  should  I  play  the 
prude  1  I  will  own  there  was  a  time  when  I  thought  my- 
self handsome.  'Tis  past,  Alas!  The  enchanting  beau- 
ties of  a  female  countenance  arise  from  peace  of  mind — 
the  look,  which  captivates  an  honorable  man,  must  be  re- 
flected from  a  noble  soul. 

Countess.  Then  Heaven  grant  my  bosom  may  ever  hold 
as  pure  a  heart  as  now  these  eyes  bear  witness  lives  in 
yours. 

Mrs.  H.  [  With  sudden  wildnuss].    Oh  !    Heaven  forbid  ! 

Countess.  [Astonished.]   How! 

Mrs.  H.  [Checking  her  tears.}  Spare  me  !  Tarn  a  wretch. 
The  sufferings  of  three  years  can  give  me  no  claim  to  your 
friendship — No,  not  even  to  your  compassion.  Oh  !  Spare 
me  !  [Going. 

Countess.  Stay,  Mrs.  Haller.  For  the  first  time,  I  beg 
your  confidence. — My  brother  loves  you. 

Mrs.  H.  [Starting  and  gazing  full  in  the  face  of  the 
Countess.}  For  mirth,  too  much — for  earnest,  too  mourn- 
ful! 

Countess.  I  revere  that  modest  blush.  Discover  to  me 
who  you  are.  You  risk  nothing.  Pour  all  your  griefs  in- 
to a  sister's  bosorn.  Am  I  not  kind  1  And  can  I  not  be 
silent  1 

Mrs.  H.  Alas  !  But  a  frank  reliance  on  a  generous 
mind  is  the  greatest  sacrifice  to  be  offered  by  true  repen- 
tance. This  sacrilice  I  will  offer.  [Hesitating.]  Did  you 
never  hear — pardon  me — did  you  never  hear — Oh  !  how 
shocking  is  it  to  unmask  a  deception,  which  alone  has  re- 
commended me  to  your  regard  !  But  it  must  be  so. — Ma- 
dam— Fie,  Adelaide  !  Does  pride  become  you  1  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  the  Countess  Waldbourg  1 


38  THE    STRANGER.  [ACT  111 

Countess.  I  think  1  did  hear,  at  the  neighboring  court, 
of  such  a  creature.  She  plunged  an  honourable  husband 
into  misery.  She  ran  away  with  a  villain. 

Mrs.  H.  She  did  indeed.  [Falls  at  the  fret  of  the  Countess. \ 
Do  not  cast  me  from  you. 

Countess.   For  Heaven's  sake  !      You  are — 

J\frs.  H.  I  am  that  wretch. 

Countess.  [Turning from  her  with  horror.]  Ha!— Begone! 
[  Going,  but  her  heart  draws  her  Lack.\  Yet,  she  is  unfortu- 
ntite  :  she  is  unfriended  !  Her  image  is  repentance — Her 
life  the  proof.  Be  still  awhile,  remorseless  prejudice,  and 
let  the  genuine  feelings  of  my  soul  avow — they  Jo  not  tru- 
ly honour  virtue,  who  can  insult  the  erring  heart  that  would 
return  to  her  sanctuary.  [  Looking  with  sorroto  on  her.]  Rise, 
I  beseech  you,  rise  !  My  husband  and  my  brother  may 
surprise  us.  I  promise  to  be  silent.  [Raising  her. 

Mrs.  H.  Yes,  you  will  be  silent — But,  oh  !  conscience ! 
conscience  !  thou  never  wilt  be  silent. — [Clasping  her 
hands.}  Do  not  cast  me  from  you. 

Countess.  Never!  Your  lonely  life,  your  silent  anguish 
and  contrition,  may  at  length  atone  your  crime.  And  ne- 
ver shall  you  want  an  asylum,  where  your  peuitence  may 
lament  your  loss.  Your  fault  was  youth  and  inexperience! 
your  heart  never  was,  never  could  be  concerned  in  it. 

Mrs.  H.  Oh !  spare  me  !  My  conscience  never  re-, 
proaches  me  so  bitterly,  as  when  I  catch  my  base  thoughts 
in  search  of  an  excuse !  No,  nothing  can  palliate  my 
guilt ;  and  the  only  just  consolation  left  me,  is  to  acquit 
the  man  I  wronged,  and  own  I  erred  without  a  cause  of 
fair  complaint. 

Countess.  And  this  is  the  mark  of  true  repentance. 
Alas  !  my  friend,  when  superior  sense,  recommended,  too, 
by  superior  charms  of  person,  assail  a  young  though  wed- 
ded— 

Mrs.  H.  Ah  !  not  even  that  mean  excuse  is  left  me.  In 
all  that  merits  admiration,  respect,  and  love,  he  was  fa)-, 
far  beneath  my  husband.  But  to  attempt  to  account  for 
iny  strange  infatuation — I  cannot  bear  it.  I  thought  my 
husband's  manner  grew  colder  to  me.  'Tis  true,  I  knew 
that  his  expenses,  and  his  confidence  in  deceitful  friends, 
had  embarrassed  his  means,  and  clouded  his  spirits  ;  yet  I 
thought  he  denied  me  pleasures  and  amusements  still 


SCENE  II.]  THE    STRANGER.  39 

within  our  reach.  My  vanity  was  mortified  !  My  confi- 
dence not  courted.  The  serpent  tongue  of  my  seducer 
promised  every  thing.  But,  never  could  such  arguments 
avail,  till,  assisted  by  forged  letters,  and  the  treachery  of 
a  servant,  whom  I  most  confided  in,  he  fixed  my  belief 
that  my  lord  was  false,  and  that  all  the  coldness  I  complain- 
ed of  was  disgust  to  me,  and  love  for  another — all  his  homo 
retrenchments  but  the  means  of  satisfying  a  rival's  luxury. 
Maddened  with  this  conviction,  (conviction  it  was.  for  arti- 
fice was  most  ingenious  in  its  proof,)  I  left  my  children — 
father — husband,  to  follow — a  villain. 

Counters.  But,  with  such  a  heart,  my  friend  could  not 
remain  long  in  her  delusion  ] 

Mrs.  H.  Long  enough  to   make  a  sufficient  penitence 

impossible.     Oh,  what  were  my  sensations  when  the  mist 

.dispersed  before  my  eyes  !      I  called  for  my  husband,  but 

in  vain  ! — 1  listened  for  the  prattle  of  my  children,  but  in 

vain  ! 

Countess.  [Embracing  her.]  Here,  here,  on  this  bosom 
only  shall  your  future  tears  be  shed  ;  and  may  I,  dear  suf- 
ferer, make  you  again  familiar  with  hope  ! 

Mrs.  H.  Oh  !  impossible  ! 

Countess.   Have  you  never  heard  of  your  children  1 

Mrs.  H.  Never. 

Cm/Kf.css.  We  must  endeavor  to  gain  some  account  of 
them.  We  must — Hold  !  My  husband  and  my  brother  ! 
Oh  !  my  poor  brother  !  I  had  quite  forgotten  him.  Quick, 
dear  Mrs.  Haller,  wipe  your  eyes.  Let  us  meet  them. 

Mrs.  H.  Madam,  I'll  follow.  Allow  me  a  moment  to 
compose  myself. — [Exit  Countess,  R.]  I  pause! — Oh!  yes 
— to  compose  myself!  [Ironically.]  She  little  thinks  it  is 
but  to  gain  one  solitary  moment  to  vent  my  soul's  remorse. 
Once,  the  purpose  of  my  unsettled  mind  was  self-destruc- 
tion. Heaven  knows  how  I  have  sued  for  hope  and  resig- 
nation. I  did  trust  my  prayers  were  heard. — Oh  !  spare 
me  further  trial  !  I  feel,  I  feel  my  heart  and  brain  can 
bear  no  m  we.  [Exit,  R. 

-» 

ENC    OF    ACT    III 


40  THE   STRANGE*.  [Acrll. 


ACT     IV.  -*-4 

SCENE  I. — The  Skirts  of  the  Park,  Lodge,  Sfc.,  as  before. 
A  Table,  spread  with  Fruits,  Sfc. 

FRANCIS  discovered  placing  the  Supper. 

Fra,  I  know  he  !oves  to  have  his  early  supper  in  the 
fresh  air ;  and,  while  he  sups,  not  that  I  believe  any  thing 
can  amuse  him,  yet  I  will  try  my  little  Savoyard's  pretty 
voices.  I  have  heard  him  speak  as  if  he  had  loved  music. 
[Music  without,  L.J  Oh,  here  they  are. 

Enter,  L.,  ANNETTE  and  CLAUDINE,  playing  on  their  Guitars. 

Ann.     To  welcome  mirth  and  harmless  glee, 
We  rambling  minstrels,  blithe  and  free, 
With  song  the  laughing  hours  beguile, 
And  wear  a  never  fading  smile : 
Where'er  we  roam, 
We  find  a  home, 
And  greeting,  to  reward  our  toil. 

Clau.    No  anxious  griefs  disturb  our  rest, 
Nor  busy  cares  annoy  our  breast ; 
Fearless  we  sink  in  soft  repose, 
While  night  her  sable  mantle  throws. 

With  grateful  lay, 

Hail,  rising  day, 
That  rosy  health  and  peace  bestows ! 

During  the  Duct,  the  STRANGER  looks  from  the  Lodge  win- 
dow, and  at  the  conclusion,  comes  out. 

Stra.  (R.)  What  mummery  is  this  ] 

Fra.  (R.  c.)  I  hoped  it  might  amuse  you,  sir. 

Stra.  Amuse  me — fool ! 

Fra.  Well,  then,  I  wished  to  amuse  myself  a  little.  I 
don't  think  my  recreations  are  so  very  numerous. 

Stra.  That's  true,  my  poor  fellow  ;  indeed  they  are  not. 
Let  them  go  on. — I'll  listen.  [Retires  and  sits  down,  R. 

Fra.  But  to  please  you,  my  poor  master,  I  fear  it  must 
be  a  sadder  strain. — Annette,  have  you  none  but  these 
cheerful  songs  ? 

Ann.  O,  plenty.  If  you  are  dolefully  given,  we  can  be 
as  sad  as  night.  I'll  sing  you  an  air  Mrs.  Haller  taught 
me,  the  first  year  she  came  to  the  Castle. 


82EJTE1.J  THE    STRANGER.  41 

Fra.  Mrs.  Haller  !     I  should  like  to  hear  that. 

Ann.     I  have  a  silent  sorrow  here, 

A  grief  I'll  ne'er  impart; 
It  breathes  no  sigh,  it  sheds  no  tear, 

But  it  consumes  my  heart. 
This  cheri*h'd  woe,  this  loved  despair, 

My  lot  for  ever  be, 
So,  my  soul's  lord,  the  pangs  I  bear 

Be  never  known  by  thee  ! 

And  when  pale  characters  of  death 

Shall  mark  this  alter'd  cheek, 
When  my  poor  wasted  trembling  breath 

My  life's  last  hope  would  speak, 
I  shall  not  raise  my  eyes  to  Heaven, 

Nor  mercy  ask  for  me  ; 
My  soul  despairs  to  be  forgiven, 

Unpardou'd,  love,  by  thee. 

Stra.  [Surprised  and  ?noced.[  Oh  !  I  have  heart!  that  air 
before,  but 'twas  with  other  words.  \Riscs.]  Francis,  share 
our  supper  with  your  friends — I  need  none. 

[Enters  tltc  Lodge. 

Fra.  So  I  feared.  Well,  [Crosses,  c.]  my  pretty  favour- 
ites, here  are  refreshments. — [Leads  tlicm  to  the  table.} — 
So,  disturbed  again  !  Now  will  this  gentleman  call  for 
more  music,  and  make  my  master  rnad  !  Go,  go,  and  re- 
turn when  you  observe  this  man  is  gone. — [Exeunt,  L.,  An- 
nette and  Cf outline,  singing.  Francis  sits  and  cats.] — I  was 
in  hopes  that  1  might  at  least  eat  my  supper  peaceably  in 
the  open  air;  but  they  follow  at  our  heels  like  blood- 
hounds. 

Enter  BARONS/TOOT  Gates. 

Bar.  (L.)  My  good  friend,  I  must  speak  to  your  mas- 
ter. 

Fra.  (R.)  Can't  serve  you. 

Bar.  Why  not  T 

Fra.  It's  forbidden. 

Bar.  [Offers  money \     There!     Announce  me. 

Fra.  Want  no  money. 

Bar.  Well,  only  announce  me,  then. 

Fra.  [Rising.]  I  will  announce  you,  sir ;  but  it  won't 
avail !  I  shall  be  abused,  and  you  rejected.  However, 
we  can  but  try.  [Going. 

Bat    I  only  ask  half  a  minute.  [Francis  goes  into  the 


42  THE   STRANGER.  [ACT  IV. 

Lodge.]  But  when  he  comes,  how  am  I  to  treat  him  1  I 
never  encountered  a  misanthrope  before.  1  have  heard  of 
instructions  as  to  conduct  in  society;  but  how  am  I  to  be- 
have towards  a  being  who  loathes  the  whole  world,  and  his 
own  existence,  I  have  never  learned. 

Enter  the  STRANGKH.,  from  Lodge. 

Stra.  (R.)  Now  ;  what's  your  will  ? 

Bar.  (L.)  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  for — [Suddenly  recognizing 
him.\  Charles  ! 

Stra.  Steinfort !  [  They  embrace. 

Bar.  Is  it  really  you,  my  dear  friend  ] 

Stra.  It  is. 

Bar.  Merciful  Heavens  !     How  you  are  altered  ! 

Stra.  The  hand  of  misery  lies  heavy  on  me.  But  tow 
came  you  here?  What  want  you  ? 

Bar.  Strange!  Here  was  1  ruminating  how  to  address 
this  mysterious  recluse  ;  he  appears,  and  proves  to  be  my 
old  and  clearest  friend. 

Stra.  Then  you  were  not  in  search  of  me,  nor  knew 
that  I  lived  here  1 

Bar.  As  little  as  I  know  who  lives  on  the  summit  of 
Caucasus.  You  this  morning  saved  the  life  of  my  brother- 
in-law's  only  son  :  a  grateful  family  wishes  to  behold  you 
in  its  circle.  You  refused  my  sister's  messenger  ;  there- 
fore, to  give  more  weight  to  the  invitation,  I  was  deputed 
to  be  the  bearer  of  it.  And  thus  has  fortune  restored  to 
me  a  friend,  whom  my  heart  has  so  long  missed,  and  whom 
my  heart  just  now  so  much  requires. 

Stra.  Yes,  I  am  your  friend  ;  your  sincere  fviend.  You 
are  a  true  man  ;  an  uncommon  man.  Towards  you,  my 
heart  is  still  the  same.  But  if  this  assurance  be  of  any 
value  to  you — go — leave  me — and  return  no  more. 

Bar.  Stay  !  All  that  I  see  and  hear  of  you,  is  inexpli- 
cable. 'Tis  you  ;  but  these,  alas  !  are  not  the  features 
which  once  enchanted  every  female  bosom,  beamed  gaiety 
through  all  society,  and  won  you  friends  before  your  lips 
were  opened  !  Why  do  you  avert  your  face  1  Is  the 
sight  of  a  friend  become  hateful  ?  Or,  do  you  fear  that  I 
should  read  in  your  eye  what  passes  in  your  soul  ?  Where 
is  that  open  look  of  fire,  which  at  once  penetrated  into 
oveiy  heart  and  revealed  your  own  ] 


]  THE   STRANGER.  43 

Stra.  |  With  asperity.]  My  look  penetrate  into  eveiy 
heart ! — Ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 

Bar.  Oh,  Heavens  !  Rather  may  I  never  hear  you 
laugh,  than  in  such  a  ton^  ! — For  Heaven's  sake,  tell  me, 
Charles!  tell  me,  I  conjure  you,  what  has  happened  to 
you  ? 

Stra.  Things  that  happen  every  day  ;  occurrences  heard 
of  in  every  street.  Steinfort,  if  I  am  not  to  hate  you,  ask 
me  not  another  question.  If  I  am  to  love  you,  leave  me. 

Bar.  Oh,  Charles  !  awake  the  faded  ideas  of  past  joys. 
Feel  thai,  a  friend  is  near.  Recollect  the  days  we  passed 
in  Hungary,  when  we  wandered  arm  in  arm  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Danube,  while  nature  opened  our  hearts,  and  made 
us  enamored  of  benevolence  and  friendship.  In  those 
blessed  moments,  you  gave  me  this  seal  as  a  pledge  of  your 
regard.  Do  you  remember  it  1 

Sfra.  Yes. 

Bar.  Am  I,  since  that  time,  become  less  worthy  of  your 
confidence  ] 

Stra.  No  ! 

Bar.  Charles  !  it  grieves  me  that  I  am  thus  compelled 
te  enforce  my  rights  upon  you.  Do  you  know  this  scar  ] 

Stra.  Comrade  !  Friend  !  It  received  and  resisted  the 
stroke  aimed  at  my  life.  I  have  not  forgotten  it.  You 
knew  not  what  a  present  you  then  made  me. 

Bar.  Speak,  then,  I  beseech  you. 

Stra.  You  cannot  help  me. 

ftur.  Then  I  can  mourn  with  you. 

Stra.  That  T  hate.     Besides,  I  cannot  weep. 

Bar.  Then  give  me  words  instead  of  tears.  Both  re- 
lieve the  heart. 

Stra.  Relieve  the  heart !  My  heart  is  like  a  close-shut 
sepulchre.  Let  what  is  within  it,  moulder  and  decay. 
Why,  why  open  the  wretched  charnel-house  lo  spread  a 
pestilence  around  ? 

Bar.  How  horrid  are  your  looks  !  For  shame  !  A  man 
like  you  thus  to  crouch  beneath  the  chance  of  fortune  ! 

Stra.  Steinfort !  I  did  think  that  the  opinion  of  all  man- 
kind was  alike  indifferent  to  me  ;  but  I  feel  that  it  is  not 
so.  My  friend,  you  shall  nut  quit  me  without  learning 
how  I  have  been  robbed  of  every  joy  which  life  afforded. 
Listen — Much  misery  rray  be  contained  in  few  words ! 


44 


THE    STRANGER  [AcT  IV 


Attracted  by  my  native  country,  I  quitted  you  and  the 
service.  What  pleasing  pictures  did  1  form  of  a  life  em- 
ployed in  improving  society  and  diffusing  happiness  !  I  fix- 
ed on  Cassel  to  be  my  abode.  All  went  on  admirably.  1 
found  friends.  At  length,  too,  I  found  a  wife  ;  a  lovely, 
innocent  creature,  scarce  sixteen  years  of  age.  Oh  !  how  1 
loved  her  !  She  bore  me  a  son  and  a  daughter.  Both  were 
endowed  by  nature  with  the  beauty  of  their  mother.  Ask 
me  not  how  I  loved  my  wife  and  children  !  Yes  ; '  then, 
then  I  was  really  happy.  [  Wiping  My  eyes.]  Ha  !  a  tear  !  1 
could  not  have  believed  it.  Welcome,  old  friends  !  'Twas 
long  since  we  have  known  each  other.  Well,  my  story  is 
nearly  ended.  One  of  my  friends,  for  whom  I  had  become 
engaged,  treacherously  lost  me  more  than  half  my  fortune. 
This  hurt  me.  I  was  obliged  to  retrench  my  expenses. 
Contentment  needs  but  little.  I  forgave  him.  Another 
friend — a  villain  !  to  whom  I  was  attached  heart  and  soul ; 
whom  I  had  assisted  with  my  means,  and  promoted  by  my 
interest,  this  fiend  !  "seduced  my  wife,  and  bore  her  from 
me.  Tell  me,  sir,  is  this  enough  to  justify  my  hatred  of 
mankind,  and  palliate  my  seclusion  from  the  world  1 — 
Kings,  laws,  tyranny,  or  guilt,  can  but  imprison  me,  or  kill 
me.  But,  O  God !  O  God  !  Oh  !  what  are  chains  or 
death,  compared  to  the  tortures  of  a  deceived,  yet  doting 
husband!  [Crosses,  L. 

Bar.  To  lament  the  loss  of  a  faithless  wife  is  madness. 

Stra.  Call  it  what  you  please — say  what  you  please — I 
love  her  still. 

Bar.  And  where  is  she  1 

Stra.  I  know  not,  nor  do  I  wish  to  know. 

Bar.  And  your  children  ? 

Stra.  I  left  them  at  a  small  town  hard  by. 

Bar.  But  why  did  you  not  keep  your  children  with  you  1 
They  would  have  amused  you  in  many  a  dreary  hour. 

Stra.  Amused  me  !  Oh,  yes  !  while  their  likeness  to 
their  mother,  should  every  hour  remind  me  of  my  past 
happiness  !  No.  For  three  years  I  have  never  seen  them. 
I  hate  that  any  human  creature  should  be  near  me,  young 
or  old  !  Had  not  ridiculous  habit  made  a  servant  neces- 
sary, I  should  never  have  engaged  him,  though  he  is  not 
the  worst  among  the  bad. 

Bar.  Such  too  often  are  the  consequences  of  great  alii- 


Scum  I.]  THE   STRANGER.  45 

ances.     Therefore,  Charles,  I  have  resolved  to  take  a  wife 
from  a  lower  rank  of  life. 

Stra.  You  marry  ! 

Bar.  You  shall  see  her.  She  is  in  the  house  where  you 
are  expected.  Come  with  me. 

Stra,   What  !      I  mix  again  with  the  world  ! 

Bar,  To  do  a  generous  action  without  requiring  thanks 
is  noble  and  praiseworthy.  But  so  obstinately  to  avoid 
those  thanks,  as  to  make  the  kindness  a  burthen,  is  affec- 
tation. 

Stra.  Leave  me  !  leave  me  !  Every  one  tries  to  form  a 
circle,  of  which'he  may  be  the  centre  :  so  do  I.  As  long 
as  there  remains  a  bird  in  these  woods  to  greet  the  rising 
sun  with  its  melody  I  shall  court  no  other  society.  [  Crosses  K. 

Bar.  Do  as  you  please  to-morrow  ;  but  give  me  your 
company  this  evening. 

Stra.  No! 

Bar.  Not  though  it  were  in  your  power,  by  this  single 
visit,  to  secure  the  happiness  of  your  friend  for  life  1 

Stra.  Ha  !      Then  I  must. — But  how  1 

Bar.  You  shall  sue  in  my  behalf  to  Mrs.  Haller.  You 
have  the  talent  of  persuasion. 

Stra.  I !  my  dear  Steinfort ! 

Bar.  The  happiness  or  misery  of  your  friend  depends 
upon  it.  I'll  contrive  that  you  shall  speak  to  her  alone. 
Will  you  1 

Stra.  I  will ;  but  upon  one  condition. 

Bar.  Name  it. 

Stra.  That  you  allow  me  to  be  gone  to-morrow,  and  not 
endeavor  to  detain  me. 

Bar.  Go  !     Whither  1 

Stra.  No  matter.     Promise  this,  or  I  will  not  come. 

Bar.  Well,  I  do  promise.     Come. 

Stra.  I  have  directions  to  give  my  servant.    [Crosses,  L. 

Bar.  In  half  an  hour,  then,  we  shall  expect  you.  Re- 
member, you  have  given  your  word. 

Stra.  I  have,  f  Exit  Baron  through  gates.  The.  Stranger 
walks  up  and  down,  thoughtful  and  melancholy  ]  Francis  ! 
Francis  ! 

Enter  FRANCIS,  from  Lodge. 
Stra.  Why  are  you  out  of  the  way  ] 


46  THE    STRANGER.  fAcr IV 

Fra.  Sir,  I  came  when  I  heard  you  call, 

Stra.  1  shall  leave  this  place  to-morrow. 

Fra.  With  all  my  heart. 

Stra.  Perhaps  to  go  into  another  land. 

Fra.   With  all  rny  heart  again. 

Stra.  Perhaps  into  another  quarter  of  the  globe. 

Fra.  With  all  my  heart  still.     Into  which  quarter  ? 

Stra.  Wherever  Heaven  directs  !  Away  !  away  !  from 
Europe  !  From  this  cultivated  moral  lazaret!  Do  you 
hear,  Francis  1  To-morrow,  early. 

Fra.  Very  well.  [Going. 

Stra.  Come  here,  come  here  first,  I  have  an  errand  for 
you.  Hire  that  carriage  in  the  village  ;  drive  to  the  town 
hard  by  ;  you  may  be  back  by  sunset.  I  shall  give  you  a 
letter  to  a  widow  who  lives  there.  With  her  you  will  find 
two  children.  They  are  mine. 

Fra.   [Astonished.]   Your  children,  sir  ] 

Stra.  Take  them  and  bring  them  hither. 

Fra.  Your  children,  sir  ! 

Stra.  Yes,  mine  !      Is  it  so  very  inconceivable  1 

Fra.  That  1  should  have  been  three  years  in  your 
service,  and  never  have  heard  them  mentioned,  is  some- 
what strange. 

Stra.  Pshaw  !     Blockhead  ! — 

Fra.  You  have  been  married,  then  1 

Stra.   Well — go,  go,  and  prepare  for  our  journey. 

Fra.   That  I  can  do  in  five  minutes.  [Going. 

Stra.  I  shall  come  and  write  the  letter  directly. 

Fra.  Very  well,  sir.  [Exit,  L. 

Stra.  Yes,  I'll  take  them  with  me.  I'll  accustom  my- 
self to  the  sight  of  them.  The  innocents  !  they  shall  not 
be  poisoned  by  the  refinements  of  society.  Rather  let  them 
hunt  their  daily  sustenance  upon  some  desert  island  with 
their  bow  and  arrow;  or  creep,  like  torpid  Hottentots,  in- 
to a  corner,  and  stare  at  each  other.  Better  to  do  nothing 
than  to  do  evil.  Fool  that  I  was,  to  be  prevailed  upon 
once  more  to  exhibit  myself  among  these  apes  !  What  a 
ridiculous  figure  shall  I  make  !  And  in  the  character  of  a 
suitor,  too.  He  cannot  be  serious  !  'Tis  but  some  friend- 
ly artifice  to  draw  lie  from  my  solitude.  Why  did  I  pro- 
mise him  1  Yet,  my  sufferings  have  been  many  :  and  to 
oblige  a  friend,  why  should  I  hesitate  to  add  another  pain- 


THE    STRANGER.  47 

'rill  hour  to  the  wretched  calendar  of  my  life  !     I'll  go,  I'll 
£o.  [Exit  into  Lodge. 

SCENE  II. — The  Antechamber. 
Enter  CHARLOTTE,  R. 

Char.  No,  indeed,  my ,  lady  !  If  you  choose  to  bury 
yourself  in  the  country,  I  shall  take  my  leave.  I  am  not 
calculated  for  a  country  life.  And,  to  sum  up  all,  when  I 
think  of  this  Mrs.  Haller 

Enter  SOLOMON,  L. 

Sol.  [Overhearing  her  last  words.}  What  of  Mrs.  Haller, 
my  sweet  Miss  1 

Cliar.  Why,  Mr.  Solomon,  who  is  Mrs.  Haller?  You 
know  everything  ;  you  hear  everything. 

Sol.  I  have  received  no  letters  from  any  part  of  Europe 
on  the  subject,  Miss. 

Char.  But  who  is  to  blame  1  The  Count  and  Countess. 
She  dines  with  them  ;  and  at  this  very  moment  is  drinking 
tea  with  them.  Is  this  proper] 

Sol.  By  no  means. 

Char.  Should  not  a  Count  and  Countess,  in  all  their  ac- 
tions, show  a  proper  degree  of  pride  and  pomposity  1 

Sol.  To  be  sure  !      To  be  sure,  they  should  ! 

Char.  No,  I  won't  submit  to  it.  I'll  tell  her  ladyship, 
when  I  dress  her  to-morrow,  that  either  Mrs.  Haller  or  I 
must  quit  the  house. 

Sol.  \Sccing  the  Baron.}  St ! 

Enter  BARON,  R. 

Bar.  Did'nt  I  hear  Mrs.  Haller' s  name  here  ? 

Sol.  [Confused. ,]    Why — yes — we — we — 

Bar.  Charlotte,  tell  my  sister  I  wish  to  see  her  as  soon 
as  the  tea-table  is  removed.  ^Crosses,  i,. 

Char.   Either  she  or  I  go,  that  I'm  determined.    [Exit,  R. 

Jiar.  May  I  ask  what  it  was  you  were  saying  ? 

Sol.  Why,  ple;ise  your  Honourable  Lordship,  we  weie 
talking  here  and  there — this  and  that — 

Bar.  I  almost  begin  to  suspect  some  secret. 

Sol.  Secret !  Heaven  forbid  !  Mercy  on  us  !  No  !  I 
should  have  had  letters  on  the  subject  if  there  had  been  a 
secret. 


48  THE    STRANGER.  [Acx IV 

Bar.  Well,  then,  since  it  was  no  secret,  I  presume  I  may 
know  your  conversation. 

So/  You  do  us  great  honour,  my  lord.  Why,  then,  at 
first,  we  were  making  a  few  common-place  observations. 
Miss  Charlotte  remarked  we  all  had  our  faults.  I  said, 
•'  Yes."  Soon  after,  I  remarked  that  the  best  persons  in 
the  world  were  not  without  their  weaknesses.  She  said, 
"  Yes." 

Bar.  If  you  referred  to  Mrs.  Haller's  faults  and  weak- 
nesses, 1  am  desirous  to  hear  more. 

Sol.  Sure  enough,  sir,  Mrs.  Haller  is  an  excellent  wo- 
man ;  but  she's  not  an  angel,  for  all  that.  I  am  an  old 
faithful  servant  to  his  Excellency  the  Count,  and  therefore 
it  is  my  duty  to  speak  when  anything  is  done  disadvanta 
geous  to  his  interest. 

Bar.   Well! 

Sol.  For  instance,  now  ;  his  Excellency  may  tnink  he 
has  at  least  some  score  of  dozens  of  the  old  six-and-twenty 
hock.  Mercy  on  us  !  There  are  not  ten  dozen  bottles 
left ;  and  not  a  drop  has  gone  down  my  throat,  I  '11  swear. 

Bar.  [Smiling.]   Mrs.  Haller  has  not  drank  it,  I  suppose  1 

So/.  Not  she  herself,  for  she  never  drinks  wine.  But  if 
anybody  be  ill  in  the  village,  any  poor  woman  lying-in, 
away  goes  a  bottle  of  the  six-and-tvventy  !  Innumerable 
are  the  times  that  I've  reproved  her ;  but  she  always  an- 
swers me  snappishly,  that  she  will  be  responsible  for  it. 

Bar.  So  will  I,  Mr.  Solomon. 

Sol.  Oh!  with  all  my  heart,  your  Honourable  Lordship. 
It  makes  no  difference  to  me.  I  had  the  care  of  the  cella?- 
twenty  years,  and  can  safely  take  my  oath,  that  I  never 
gave  the  poor  a  single  drop  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life. 

Bar.  How  extraordinary  is  this  woman  !          [ Crosses,  R. 

Sol.  Extraordinary  !  One  can  make  nothing  of  her 
To-day,  the  vicar's  wife  is  not  good  enough  for  her.  To- 
morrow, you  may  see  *>er  sitting  with  all  the  women  in  the 
village.  To  be  sure,  she  and  1  agree  pretty  well;  for  be- 
tween me  and  your  Honourable  Lordship,  she  has  cast  an 
eye  upon  my  son  Peter. 

Bar.   Has  she  ] 

Sol.  Yes — Peter's  no  fool,  I  assure  you.  The  school- 
master is  teaching  him  to  write.  Would  your  Honourable 
Lordship  please  to  see  a  specimen  ?  I'll  go  for  his  copy- 
book. He  makes  his  pot-hooks  capitally. 


SCENE  II.]  THE    STRANGER.  49 


Another  time,  another  time.  Good  bye  for  tho 
present,  Mr.  Solomon.  [Solomon  bows  without  attempting  to 
go.]  Good  clay,  Mr.  Solomon. 

Sol.  [Not  understanding  the  7tintJ\  Your  Honourable 
Lordship's  most  obedient  servant. 

Bar.  Mr.  Solomon,  I  wish  to  be  alone. 

Sol.  As  yourjordship  commands.  If  the  time  should 
seem  long  in  my  absence,  and  your  lordship  wishes  to  hear 
the  newest  news  from  the  seat  of  war,  you  need  only  send 
for  old  Solomon.  I  have  letters  from  Leghorn,  Cape  Horn, 
and  every  known  part  of  the  habitable  globe.  [Exit,  L. 

Bar.  Tedious  old  fool  !  Yet  hold.  Did  he  not  speak 
in  praise  of  Mrs.  Haller]  Pardoned  be  his  rage  for  news 
and  politics. 

Enter  COUNTESS,  n. 

Well,  sister,  have  you  spoken  to  her  1 

Countess.  I  have  :  and  if  you  do  not  steer  for  another 
haven,  you  will  be  doomed  t^  drive  upon  the  ocean  for 
ever. 

Bar.  Is  she  man-led  1 

Countess.  I  don't  know. 

Bar.  Is  she  of  a  good  family  ? 

Countess.  I  can't  tell. 

Bar.  Does  she  dislike  me  1 

Countess.  Excuse  my  making  a  reply. 

Bar.  I  thank  you  for  your  sisterly  affection,  and  the  ex- 
plicitness  of  yt»ur  communications.  Luckily,  I  placed  lit- 
tle reliance  on  either  ;  and  have  found  a  friend,  who  will 
sav«  your  ladyship  all  further  trouble. 

Countess.  A  friend  ! 

Bar.  Yes.  The  Stranger,  who  saved  your  son's  life  this 
morning,  proves  to  be  my  intimate  friend. 

Countess.   What's  his  name  1 

Bar.  I  .don't  know. 

Countess.  Is  he  of  good  family  ] 

Bar.  1  can't  tell. 

Countess.  Will  he  come  hither? 

Bar.  Excuse  my  making  a  reply. 

Countess.  Well,  the  retort  is  fair  —  but  insufferable. 

Bar.  You  can't  object  to  the  Da  Capo  of  yOur  awn  coiri- 
position. 


SO  THE    STRANGER.  [AcT  IV 

Enter  COUNT  and  MRS.  HALLER,  R. 

Count.  Zounds  !  do  you  think  I  am  Xenocrates  ;  or  like 
the  poor  sultan  with  marble  legs  ?  There  you  leave  me, 
tete-a-tete  with  Mrs.  Haller,  as  if  my  heart  were  a  mere 
flint.  So  you  prevailed,  brother.  The  Stranger  will  come 
then,  it  seems. 

Bar.  I  expect  him  every  minute. 

Count.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  One  companion  more,  how- 
ever. In  the  country,  we  never  can  have  too  many. 

Bar.  This  gentleman  will  not  exactly  be  an  addition  to 
your  circle,  for  he  leaves  this  place  to-morrow. 

[Crosses  behind  Mrs.  Haller,  R. 

Count.  But  he  won't,  I  think.  Now,  Lady  Wintersen, 
summon  all  your  charms.  There  is  no  art  in  conquering 
us  poor  devils :  but  this  strange  man  who  does  not  care  a 
doit  for  you  all  together,  is  worth  your  efforts.  Tiy  your 
skill.  I  shan't  be  jealous. 

Countess.  I  allow  the  conquest  to  be  worth  the  trouble. 
But  what  Mrs.  Haller  has  not  been  able  to  effect  in  three 
months,  ought  not  to  be  attempted  by  me. 

Mrs.  H.  Oh,  madam,  he  has  given  me  no  opportunity 
of  trying  the  force  of  my  charms,  for  I  never  once  happen- 
ed to  see  him. 

Count.  Then  he's  a  blockhead  ;  and  you  an  idler. 

Sol.  [  Without,  L.]  This  way,  sir  !     This  way  ! 

Enter  SOLOMON,  L. 

Sol.  The  Stranger  begs  leave  to  have  the  honour — 

Count.  Welcome  !     Welcome  !  [Exit  Solomon. 

[Runs  to  meet  the   Stranger,  whom  he  conducts  in  by  tht 

hand. 
My  dear  sir — Lady  Wintersen — Mrs.  Haller — 

[Jllrs.  Haller,  as  soon  as  she  sees  the  Stranger,  shrieks,  and 
swoons  in  the  arms  of  the  Baron.  The  Stronger  casts  a 
look  at  her,  and,  struck  with  astonishment  and  horror, 
rushes  out  of  the  room,  \..  The  Baron  and  Countess 
Lear  Mrs.  Haller  off,  R.  ;  Count  following  in  great  sur 
prise. 

END    OF   ACT   IV. 


Scvme  I.] 


THE    STRANGER.  51 


AC  T    V. 


SCENE  I. — The  Antickamler. 
Enter  BARON,  u. 

Bar.  Oh !  deceitful  hope  !  Thou  phantom  of  future 
happiness.  To  thee  have  I  stretched  out  my  arms,  and 
thou  hast  vanished  into  air  !  Wretched  Stcinfort !  The 
mystery  is  solved.  She  is  the  wife  of  my  friend  !  I  can- 
not myself  be  happy  ;  but  I  may,  perhaps,  be  able  to  re- 
unite two  lovely  souls  whom  cruel  fate  has  severed.  Ha  ! 
they  are  here.  I  must  propose  it  instantly. 

Enter  COUNTESS  and  MRS.  HALLER,  R. 

Countess.  Into  the  garden,  my  dear  friend  !  Into  the 
air ! 

Mrs.  H.  I  am  quite  well.  Do  not  alarm  yourselves  on 
my  account. 

Bar.  Madam,  pardon  my  intrusion;  but  to  lose  a  mo- 
ment may  be  fatal.  He  means  to  quit  the  country  to-mor- 
row. We  must  devise  means  to  reconcile  you  to  the  Stran- 
ger. 

Mrs.  H.  How,  my  lord  !  You  seem  acquainted  with 
my  history  1 

Bar.  I  am.  Waldbourg  has  been  my  friend  ever  since 
wo  were  boys.  We  served  together  from  the  rank  of  ca- 
det. We  have  been  separated  seven  years.  Chance 
brought  us  this  day  together,  and  his  heart  was  open  to 
me. 

Mrs.  II.  How  do  I  feel  what  it  is  to  be  in  the  presence 
of  an  honest  man,  when  I  dare  not  meet  his  eye. 

Bar.  If  sincere  repentance,  if  years  without  reproach, 
do  not  give  us  a  title  to  man's  forgiveness,  what  must  we 
expect  hereafter]  No,  lovely  penitent !  your  contrition  is 
complete.  Error  for  a  moment  wrested  frori  slumbering 
virtue  the  dominion  of  your  heart ;  but  she  awoke,  and, 
with  a  look,  banished  her  enemy  forever.  I  know  my 
friend.  He  has  the  firmne.-s  of  a  man  ;  but,  with  it,  the 
gentlest  feelings  of  your  sex.  1  hasten  to  him.  With  the 
fire  of  pure,  disinterested  friendship  will  I  enter  on  this 
work;  that,  when  I  look  ba<;k  upon  my  past  life,  I  may 


52  THE    STRANGER.  [ACT  V 

derive  from  this  good  action  consolation  in  disaj:  pointment, 
and  even  resignation  in  despair.  \Going,  L. 

Mrs.  H.  [Crosses,  c.]  Oh,  stay  !  What  would  you  do  ? 
No  !  never  !  My  husband's  honour  is  sacred  to  me.  I 
love  him  unutterably  :  but  never,  never  can  I  be  his  wife 
again  ;  even  if  he  were  generous  enough  to  pardon  me. 

Bar.  Madam  !      Can  you,  Countess,  be  serious  1 

Mrs.  H.  Not  that  title,  I  beseech  you  !  I  am  not  a  child 
who  wishes  to  avoid  deserved  punishment.  What  were 
my  penitence,  if  I  hoped  advantage  from  it  beyond  the 
consciousness  of  atonement  for  past  offence  1 

Countess.  But  'f  your  husband  himself  I — 

Mrs.  H.  Oh!  be  will  not!  he  cannot!  And  let  him 
rest  assured  I  never  would  replace  my  honqur  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his. 

•Bar.  He  still  loves  you. 

Mrs.  H.  Loves  me  !  Then  he  must  not — no — he  must 
purify  his  heart  from  a  weakness  which  would  degrade 
him ! 

Bar.  Incomparable^woman  !  I  go  to  my  friend — per- 
haps for  the  last  time  !  Have  you  not  one  word  to  send 
him  1 

Mrs.  H.  Yes,  I  have  two  requests  to  make.  Often, 
when,  in  excess  of  grief,  I  have  despaired  of  every  conso- 
lation, I  have  thought  I  should  be  easier  if  1  might  behold 
my  husband  once  again,  acknowledge  my  injustice  to  him, 
and  take  a  gentle  leave  of  him  forever.  This,  therefore, 
is  my  first  request — a  conversation  for  a  few  short  minutes, 
if  he  does  not  quite  abhor  the  sight  of  me.  My  second 
request  is — Oil — not  to  see,  but  to  hear  some  account  of 
my  poor  children. 

Ear.  If  humanity  and  friendship  can  avail,  he  will  not 
for  a  moment  delay  your  wishes. 

Countess.  Heaven  be.  with  you  ! 

Mrs.  H.  And  my  prayers,  f  Exit  Baron,  L. 

Countess.  Come,  my  friend,  come  into  the  air,  till  he 
returns  with  hope  and  consolation. 

Mrs.  H.  Oh,  my  heart !  how  art  thou  afflicted  !  My 
husband  !  My  little  ones  !  Past  joys  and  future  fears. — 
Oh,  dearest  inadam,  there  are  moments  in  which  we  live 
years  !  moments  which  steal  the  roses  from  the  cheek  of 
health,  and  plough  deep  furrows  in  the  brow  of  youth. 


SCENE  II.]  THE   STRANGER.  53 

Countess.  Banish  these  sad  reflections.  [Crosses,  L.j — 
Come,  let  us  walk.  The  sun  will  set  soon  ;  let  nature's 
beauties  dissipate  anxiety. 

Mrs.  H.  Alas  !  Yes,  the  setting  sun  is  a  proper  scene 
for  me. 

Countess.  Never  forget  that  a  morning  will  succeed. 

[Exeunt  L. 

SCENE  II. —  The  Skirts  of  the  Park,  Lodge,  Sfc.,  as  before. 

Enter  BARON,  from  Gates. 

Ear.  On  earth,  there  is  but  one  such  pair.  They  shall 
not  be  parted.  Yet  what  I  have  undertaken  is  not  so  easy 
as  I  at  first  hoped.  What  can  I  answer  when  he  asks  me, 
whether  I  would  persuade  him  to  renounce  his  character, 
and  become  the  derision  of  society  1  For  he  is  right :  a 
faithless  wife  is  a  dishonor  !  and  to  forgive  her,  is  to  share 
her  shame.  What  though  Adelaide  may  be  an  exception; 
a  young  deluded  girl,  who  has  so  long  and  so  sincerely  re- 
pented ;  yet  what  cares  an  unfeeling  world  for  this  1  The 
world  !  He  has  quitted  it,  'Tis  evident  he  loves  her  still; 
and  upon  this  assurance  builds  my  sanguine  heart  the  hope 
of  a  happy  termination  to  an  honest  enterprise. 

Enter  FEANCIS  with  two  children,  WILLIAM  and  AMELIA,  R. 

Fra.  (R.  c.)  Come  along,  my  pretty  ones — come. 

Will,   (u  c.)   Is  it  far  to  home  ? 

Fra.  No,  we  shall  be  there  directly  now. 

Bar.  (L.)  Hold  !     Whose  children  are  these  ? 

Fra.  My  master's. 

Will.  Is  that  my  father  1 

Bar.  It  darts  like  lightning  through  my  brain.  A  word 
with  you.  \Francisputsthechildrcn  a  little  back.}  I  know 
you  love  your  master.  Strange  things  have  happened 
here.  Your  master  has  found  his  wife  again. 

Fra.  Indeed!     Glad  to  hear  it. 

Bar.  Mrs.  Haller — 

Fra.  Is  she  his  wife  ]     Still  more  glad  to  hear  it. 

Bar.  But  he  is  determined  to  go  from  her. 

Fra.  Oh  ! 

Bar.  We  must  try  to  prevent  it. 

Fra.  Sirely. 


54  THE    STRANGER.  [ACT  V. 

Bar.  The  unexpected  appearance  of  die  children  may 
perhaps  assist  us. 

Fra.  How  so  ? 

Bar.  Hide  yourself  with  them  in  that  hut.  Before  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  is  passed,  you  shall  know  more. 

Fra.  But — 

Bar.  No  more  questions,  I  entreat  you.  Time  is  pre- 
cious. 

Fra.  Well,  well :  questions  are  not  much  in  my  way. 
Come,  children.  [Takes  them  in  cock  hand. 

Will.  Why,  I  thought  you  told  me  I  should  see  my  fa- 
ther 1 

Fra,  So  you  shall,  my  dear.     Come,  moppets. 

[Goes  into  the  Hut  with  the  Children,  L.  u.  E. 

Bar.  Excellent !  I  promise  myself  much  from  this  little 
artifice.  If  the  mild  look  of  the  mother  fails,  the  innocent 
smiles  of  these,  his  own  children,  will  surely  find  the  way 
to  his  heart.  [Taps  at  the  Lodge  door  :  I/IK  Stranger  comes 
out.]  Charles,  I  wish  you  joy. 

Ktra.  Of  what] 

Bar.  You  have  found  her  again. 

Stra.  Show  a  bankrupt  the  treasure  which  he  once  pos- 
sessed, and  then  congratulate  him  on  the  amount ! 

Bar.  Why  not,  if  it  be  in  your  power  to  retrieve  the 
whole  ] 

Stra.  I  understand  you  :  you  are  a  negociator  from  my 
wife.  It  won't  avail. 

Bar.  Learn  to  know  your  wife  better.  Yes,  I  am  a 
messenger  from  her  ;  but  without  power  to  treat.  She, 
who  loves  you  unutterably,  who  without  you  never  can 
be  happy,  renounces  your  forgiveness  ;  because,  as  she 
thinks,  your  honour  is  incompatible  with  such  a  weakness. 

Stra.  Pshaw  !     I  am  not  to  be  caught. 

Bar.  Charles  !   consider  well — 

Stra.  Steinfort,  let  me  explain  all  this.  I  have  lived 
here  three  years.  Adelaide  knew  it. 

Bar.  Knew  it !      She  never  saw  you  till  to-day. 

Vtra.  That  you  may  make  fools  believe.  Hear  further: 
slit;  knows,  too,  that  I  am  not  a  common  sort  of  man ;  that 
my  heart  is  not  to  be  attacked  in  the  usual  manner.  She, 
therefore,  framed  a  deep-concerted  plan.  She  played  a 
charitable  part ;  but  in  such  a  way,  that  it  always  reached 


ScEKEll.]  THE   STRANGER.  56 

my  ears.  She  played  a  pious,  modest,  reserved  part,  in 
order  to  excite  my  curiosity.  And,  at  last,  to-day  she  plays 
the  prude.  Slie  refuses  my  forgiveness,  in  hopes,  by  this 
generous  device,  to  extort  it  from  my  compassion. 

Bar.  Charles  !  1  have  listened  to  you  with  astonishment. 
This  is  a  weakness  only  to  be  pardoned  in  a  man  who  has 
so  often  been  deceived  by  the  world.  Your  wife  has  ex- 
pressly and  steadfastly  declared,  that  she  will  not  accept 
your  forgiveness,  even  if  you  yourself  were  weak  enough 
to  offer  it. 

Stra.   What  then  has  brought  you  hither  1 

Bar.  More  than  one  reason.  First,  I  am  come  in  my 
own  name,  as  your  friend  and  comrade,  to  conjure  you 
solemnly  not  to  spurn  this  creature  from  you ;  for,  by  my 
soul,  you  will  not  find  her  equal. 

Stra.  Give  yourself  no  further  trouble. 

Bar.  Be  candid,  Charles.      You  love  her  still  ? 

Stra.  Alas !  yea. 

Bar.  Her  sincere  repentance  has  long  since  obliterated 
her  crime. 

Stra.  Sir  !  a  wife,  once  induced  to  forfeit  her  honour, 
must  be  capable  of  a  second  crime. 

Bar.  Not  so,  Charles.  Ask  your  heart  what  portion  of 
the  blame  may  be  your  own. 

Stra.  Mine? 

Bar.  Yours.  Who  told  you  to  marry  a  thoughtless  in- 
experienced girl  ]  One  scarce  expects  established  princi- 
ples at  five-and-twenty  in  a  man,  yet  you  require  them  in 
a  girl  of  sixteen  !  But  of  this  no  more.  She  has  erred  ; 
she  has  repented  ;  and,  during  three  years,  her  conduct 
has  been  so  far  above  reproach,  that  even  the  piercing  eye 
of  calumny  has  not  discovered  a  speck  upon  this  radiant 
orb. 

Sfra.  Now,  were  I  to  believe  all  this — and  1  confess 
I  would  willingly  believe  it — yet  she  can  never  again  l;o 
mine.  Ah  !  what  a  feast  would  it  be  for  the  painted  dolls 
and  vermin  of  the  world,  when  I  appeared  among  them 
with  my  runaway  wife  upon  my  arm  !  What  mocking, 
whispering,  pointing  ! — Never  !  Never !  Never  ! 

[Crosses,  L. 

Bar.  Enough!  As  a  friend  I  have  done  my  duty  ;  I  now 
appear  as  Adelaide's  ambassador.  She  requests  one  mo- 


56  THE    STRANGER. 


I  Act  V 


merit's  conversation  :  she  wishes  once  again  to  see  you,  and 
never  more  !  You  cannot  deny  her  this  only,  this  last  re-- 
quest. 

Stra.  I  understand  this  too  :  she  thinks  my  firmness  will 
be  melted  by  her  tears  :  she  is  mistaken.  She  may  come. 

Bar.  She  will  come  to  make  you  feel  how  much  you 
mistake  her.  I  go  for  her. 

Stra.  Another  word. 

Bar.  Another  word  ! 

Stra.  Give  her  this  paper,  and  these  jewels.  They  be- 
long to  her.  [Presenting  tJicm. 

Bar.  That  you  may  do  yourself.  [Exit  at  Gate,  c. 

Stra.  The  last  anxious  moment  of  my  life  draws  near. 
I  shall  see  her  once  again  ;  I  shall  see  her  on  whom  my 
soul  doats.  Is  this  the  language  of  an  injured  husband  ] 
What  is  this  principle  which  we  call  honor  1  Is  it  a  feel- 
ing of  the  heart,  or  a  quibble  in  the  brain  1  I  must  be  re- 
solute :  it  cannot  now  be  otherwise.  Let  me  speak  so- 
lemnly, yet  mildly  ;  and  beware  that  nothing  of  renroach 
escape  my  lips. 

Enter  COUNTESS,  MRS.  HALLER,  and  BARON,  from  Gates. 

Yes,  her  penitence  is  real,  it  is  real.  She  shall  not  be 
obliged  to  live  in  mean  dependence  :  she  shall  be  mistress 
of  herself,  she  shall — Ha  !  they  come.  Awake,  insulted 
pride  !  Protect  me,  injured  honour  ! 

[Gets  over  to  R.  of  Stage. 

Mrs.  II.  [Advances  slowly,  and  in  a  trcmour,  L.  Countess 
attempts  to  support.  her.[  Leave  me  now,  I  beseech  you. 
[Baron  and  Countess  retire  into  the  hut,  L.  r.  E.  Approaches 
the  Stranger,  who,  with  averted  countenance,  and  in  extreme 
agitation,  awaits  her  address. [  My  lord  ! 

Stra.  [  With  gentle  tremulous  utterance,  and  face  still  turn- 
ed away.]  What  would  you  with  me,  Adelaide  1 

Mrs.  H.  [Much  agitated.}  No — for  Heaven's  sake  !  I 
was  not  prepared  for  this — Adelaide  ! — No,  no.  For 
Heaven's  sake  ! — Harsh  words  alone  are  suited  to  a  cul- 
prit's ear. 

Stra.  [Endeavoring  to  give  Jiis  voice  Jirmncss.]  Well,  ma- 
dam ! 

Mrs.  H.  Oh !  If  you  will  ease  my  heart,  if  you  will 
spare  ard  pity  me,  use  reproaches. 


SCEH«  II.]  THE    STRANGER.  57 

Stra.  Reproaches  ;  Here  they  are  ;  here  on  my  sallow 
cheek — here  in  my  hollow  eye — here  in  my  faded  form. 
These  reproaches  1  could  not  spare  you. 

Mrs.  H.  Were  I  a  hardened  sinner,  this  forbearance 
would  be  charity  :  but  1  am  a  suffering  penitent,  and  it 
overpowers  me  !  Alas  !  then  1  must  be  the  herald  of  my 
own  shame.  For  where  shall  I  find  peace  till  I  have  eased 
my  soul  by  siy  confession. 

Stra.  No  confession,  madam.  I  release  you  from  every 
humiliation.  I  perceive  you  feel  that  we  must  part  for- 
ever. * 

Jllrs.  13..  I  know  it.  Nor  come  I  here  to  supplicate  your 
pardon  ;  nor  has  my  heart  contained  a  ray  of  hope  that 
you  would  grant  it.  All  I  dare  ask,  is,  that  you  will  not 
curse  my  memory. 

Stra.  No,  I  do  not  curse. you.     I  shall  never  curse  you. 

Mrs.  H.  From  the  inward  conviction  that  I  am  unworthy 
of  your  name,  I  have,  during  three  years,  abandoned  it. 
But  this  is  not  enough  ;  you  must  have  that  redress  which 
will  enable  you  to  choose  another — another  wife  ;  in  whose 
chaste  arms  may  Heaven  protect  your  hours  of  bliss !  This 
paper  will  be  necessary  for  the  purpose  ;  it  contains  a  writ- 
ten acknowledgment  of  my  guilt.  [Offers  it,  trembling. 

Stra.  [  Tearing  it.\  Perish  the  record  for  ever  ! — No, 
Adelaide,  you  only  have  possessed  my  heart ;  and  I  am 
not  ashamed  to  own  it,  you  alone  will  reign  there  forever. 
— Your  own  sensations  of  virtue,  your  resolute  honour, 
forbid  you  to  profit  by  my  weakness  ;  and  even  if — this  is 
beneath  a  man  !  But — never — will  another  fill  Adelaide's 
place  here. 

Mrs.  H.  Then  nothing  now  remains  but  that  one  sad, 
hard,  just  word — farewell  !  \G-oing,  L. 

Stra.  Stay  a  moment.  For  some  months  we  Irive,  with- 
out knowing  it,  lived  near  each  other.  I  have  learnt  much 
good  of  you.  You  have  a  heart  open  to  the  wants  of  your 
fellow  creatures.  I  am  happy  that  it  is  so.  You  shall  not 
be  without  the  power  of  gratifying  your  benevolence.  I 
know  you  have  a  spirit  that  must  shrink  from  a  state  of 
obligation.  This  paper,  to  which  the  whole  remnant  of 
my  fortune  is  pledged,  secures  y.ju  independence,  Ade- 
laide ;  and  lot  the  only  recommendation  of  the  gift  be, 
that  it  will  administer  to  you  tihe  means  of  indulging  ir, 
charily,  the  divine  propensity  of  your  nature. 


58  THE   STRANGER,  [Act  V 

Mrs.  H.  Never  !  To  the  labor  of  my  hands  alone  will 
I  owe  my  sustenance.  A  morsel  of  bread,  moistened  with 
the  tear  of  penitence,  will  suffice  my  wishes,  and  exceed 
my  merits.  It  would  be  an  additional  reproach,  to  think 
that  I  served  myself,  or  even  others,  from  the  bounty  of 
the  man  whom  I  had  so  deeply  injured. 

Stra.  Take  it,  madam ;   take  it. 

Mrs.  H.  I  have  deserved  this.  But  I  throw  myself  up- 
on your  generosity.  Have  compassion  on  me  ! 

Stra.  [Aside.]  Villain  !  Of  what  a  woman  hast  thou 
robbed  me  ! — [Puts  up  thcpaper.]  Well,  madam,  I  respect 
your  sentiments  and  withdraw  my  request ;  but  on  condi- 
tion, that  if  ever  you  shall  be  in  want  of  anything,  I  may 
be  the  first  and  only  person  in  the  world  to  whom  you  will 
make  your  application. 

Mrs.  H.  I  promise  it,  my  lord. 

Stra.  And  now  I  may,  at  least,  desire  you  to  lake  back 
what  is  your  own — your  jewels.  [Gives  her  the  casket. 

Mrs.  H.  \  Opens  it,  and  weeps.]  How  well  do  I  recollect  t 
the  sweet  evening  when  jou  gave  me  these  !  __  That  eve- 
ning my  father  joined  our  bands  ;  and  joyfully  I  pronounc- 
ed the  oath  of  eternal  fidelity. — It  is  broken.  This  locket 
you  gave  me  on  my  birth-day. — That  was  a  happy  day  ! 
We  had  a  country  feast — Ho\v  cheerful  we  all  were  ! — 
This  bracelet  I  received  after  my  William  was  born! — No  ! 
Take  them — take  them — I  cannot  take  these,  unless  you 
wish  that  the  sight  of  them  .should  be  an  incessant  re- 
proach to  my  almost  broken  heart.  [Gives  them  back. 

Stra.  I  must  go.  My  soul  and  pride  will  hold  no  lon- 
ger. Farewell. 

Mrs.  H.    Oh  !    But  one  minute  more  !     An   answer  to 
but  one  more  question. — Feel  for  a  mother's  heart ! — Are 
my  children  still  alive  1 
'    Stra.  Yes,  they  are  alive. 

Mrs.  H   And  Well  1 

Sfra.  Yes,  they  are  well. 

.Mnt.  H.  Heaven  be  praised  !  William  must  be  much 
grown  1 

Sfra.  I  believe  so. 

Jlf  •?.  H.  What !  Have  you  not  seen  them,  then  1  And 
little  Amelia,  is  she  still  your  favorite  ]  [  The  Stranger,  who 
is  in  violent  agitation  throughout  this  scene,  remains  in  silent 


THE    STRANGER.  59 

contention  between  honor  and  affection.]  Oh  !  generous  man, 
allow  me  to  behold  them  once  again  ! — Let  me  once  more 
kiss  the  features  of  their  father  in  his  babes,  and  I  will 
kneel  to  you,  and  part  with  them  forever. 

[S/te  kneels — 7i.e  raises  J;,er. 

Stra.  Willingly,  Adelaide  !  This  very  night.  I  expect 
the  children  every  minute.  They  have  been  brought  up 
near  this  spot.  I  have  already  sent  my  servant  for  them. 
He  might,  ere  this  time,  have  returned.  I  pledge  my 
word  to  send  them  to  the  Castls  as  soon  as  they  arrive. 
There,  if  you  please,  they  may  remain  till  daybreak  to- 
morrow :  then  they  must  go  with  me. 

\The  Countess  and  Baron,  having  re-entered  and  listened 
to  the  whole  conversation  with  the  icarmest  sympathy, 
exchange  signals.  Baron  goes  into  the  Hut,  and  soon 
returns  with  the  Children.  He  gives  the  Girl  to  the 
Countess,  who  places  herself  behind  the  Stranger.  He 
himself  walks  with  the  Boy  behind  Mrs.  Haller. 
Mrs.  II.  In  this  world,  then,  we  have  no  more  to  say  ! 

[Seizing  his  hand.}  Forget  a   wretch   who  never  will 

forget  you. — Let  me  press  this  hand  once  more  to  my  lips 
— this  hand  which  once  was  mine.  And  when  my  penance 
shall  have  broken  my  fieart, — when  we  again  meet  in  a 
better  world — — 

Stra.  There,  Adelaide,  you  may  be  mine  again. 

W^IL  }0h!  Oh!  {Parting 

[But,  as  they  are  going,  she  encounters  the  Boy,  and  he 
the  Girl. 

Children.  Dear  father  !      Dear  mother  ! 

\They  press  the  Children  in  their  arms  with  speechless  of' 
fection  ;  then  tear  themselves  away — gaze  at  each  other 
— spread  their  arms  and  rush  into  an  embrace.  The 
Children  run  and  cling  round  their  parents.  The  Cur- 
tain falls. 

DISPOSITION    OF    THE    CHARACTERS    AT    THE    FALL   OP 
THE  CURTAIN. 

COUNTESS.  BARON. 

STRANGER.  MRS.  HALLER* 

THE    END. 


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